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HELEN  WITH   THE  HIGH   HAND 


BY      ARNOLD      BENNETT 


NOVELS 

THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

THE  MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

TGE  BOOK  OF  CARLOTTA 

BURIED  ALIVE 

A  GREAT  MAN 

LEONORA 

WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

A  MAN  FROM  THE  NORTH 

ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  GLIMPSE 

POCKET  PHILOSOPHIES 

How  TO  LIVE  ON  24  HOURS  A  DAY 
THE  HUMAN  MACHINE 
LITERARY  TASTE 
MENTAL  EFFICIENCY 

PLAY* 

CUPID  AND  COMMONSENSE 
WHAT  THE   PUBLIC  WANTS 
POLITE  FARCES 
MILESTONES 
THE  HONEYMOON 

MISCELLANEOUS 

THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  AN  AUTHOR 
THE  FEAST  OF  ST.  FRIEND 


GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


THE      POCKET      BOOKS 

HELEN  WITH  THE 
HIGH     HAND 

By    ARNOLD    BENNETT 

Author  of  "The  Old  Wives'  Tale," 
"  The  Book  of  Carlotta,"  etc. 

GEORGE    H.   DORAN    COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 

Copyright,  1911, 
By  GEORGE  H.  DORAK  COMFAK* 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PACK 

I  BEGINNING    OF    THE    IDYLL                                                                             1 

II  AN    AFFAIR    OF    THE    SEVENTIES                  .                .               .11 

III  MARRYING    OFF    A    MOTHER  ....  20 

IV  INVITATION    TO    TEA                .....            29 
V  A    SALUTATION               .               .               .               .               .               .41 

vi  MRS.  BUTT'S   DEPARTURE             ....        45 

VII  THE    NEW    COOK           ......           60 

VIII  OMELETTE          .......           70 

IX  A    GREAT    CHANGE      .               .               .               ...            80 

X  A    CALL             .                ......           87 

XI  ANOTHER    CALL             ......           99 

XII  BREAKFAST       .              .              .              .              .              .              .110 

XIII  THE    WORLD      .               .               .               .               .               .               .119 

XIV  SONG,    SCENE    AND    DANCE  .  .  .  .127 

XV  THE    GIFT  .  .  .  .  .  .  .140 

XVI  THE    HALL    AND    ITS    RESULT          .              .               .               .147 

XVII  DESCENDANTS    OF    MACHIAVELLI                                 .              .160 

XVIII  CHICANE              ....                             .              .        168 

XIX  THE    TOSSING                 f              .              .              .              .              .178 

2001663 


vi 

CONTENTS 

CHAP. 

PAGE 

XX 

THE    FLITTING                            .... 

.      189 

XXI 

197 

XXII 

210 

XXIII 

NOCTURNAL       ..•••• 

.      221 

XXIV 

231 

XXV 

GIRLISH    CONFIDENCES                         .              .              . 

.      243 

XXVI 

253 

XXVII 

UNKNOTTING    AND    KNOTTING       .             . 

.      264 

HELEN    WITH 
THE  HIGH   HAND 

CHAPTER  I 

BEGINNING   OF   THE   IDYLL 

IN  the  Five  Towns  human  nature  is  reported  to  be 
so  hard  that  you  can  break  stones  on  it.  Yet  some- 
times it  softens,  and  then  we  have  one  of  our  rare 
idylls  of  which  we  are  very  proud,  while  pretending 
not  to  be.  The  soft  and  delicate  South  would  pos- 
sibly not  esteem  highly  our  idylls,  as  such.  Never- 
theless they  are  our  idylls,  idyllic  for  us,  and  remind- 
ing us,  by  certain  symptoms,  that  though  we  never 
cry  there  is  concealed  somewhere  within  our  bodies 
a  fount  of  happy  tears. 

The  town  park  is  an  idyll  in  the  otherwise  prosaic 
municipal  history  of  the  Borough  of  Bursley,  which 
previously  had  never  got  nearer  to  romance  than  a 
Turkish  bath.  It  was  once  waste  ground  covered 
with  horrible  rubbish-heaps,  and  made  dangerous  by 
the  imperfectly-protected  shafts  of  disused  coal-pits. 


2       HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

Now  you  enter  it  by  emblazoned  gates;  it  is  sur- 
rounded by  elegant  railings;  fountains  and  cascades 
babble  in  it ;  wild-fowl  from  far  countries  roost  in  it, 
on  trees  with  long  names;  tea  is  served  in  it;  brass 
bands  make  music  on  its  terraces,  and  on  its  highest 
terrace  town  councillors  play  bowls  on  billiard-table 
greens  while  casting  proud  glances  on  the  houses  of 
thirty  thousand  people  spread  out  under  the  sweet 
influence  of  the  gold  angel  that  tops  the  Town  Hall 
spire.  The  other  four  towns  are  apt  to  ridicule  that 
gold  angel,  which  for  exactly  fifty  years  has  guarded 
the  borough  and  only  been  regilded  twice.  But  ask 
the  plumber  who  last  had  the  fearsome  job  of  re- 
gilding  it  whether  it  is  a  gold  angel  to  be  despised, 
and  —  you  will  see ! 

The  other  four  towns  are  also  apt  to  point  to  their 
own  parks  when  Bursley  mentions  its  park  (especially 
Turnhill,  smallest  and  most  conceited  of  the  Five)  ; 
but  let  them  show  a  park  whose  natural  situation 
equals  that  of  Bursley's  park.  You  may  tell  me 
that  the  terra-cotta  constructions  within  it  carry  ugli- 
ness beyond  a  joke;  you  may  tell  me  that  in  spite  of 
the  park's  vaunted  situation  nothing  can  be  seen  from 
it  save  the  chimneys  and  kilns  of  earthenware  manu- 
factories, the  scaffolding  of  pitheads,  the  ample  dome 
of  the  rate-collector's  offices,  the  railway,  minarets  of 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  IDYLL  3 

nonconformity,  sundry  undulating  square  miles  of  mo- 
notonous house-roofs,  the  long  scarves  of  black  smoke 
which  add  such  interest  to  the  sky  of  the  Five  Towns 
—  and,  of  course,  the  gold  angel.  But  I  tell  you 
that  before  the  days  of  the  park  lovers  had  no  place 
to  walk  in  but  the  cemetery;  not  the  ancient  church- 
yard of  St.  Luke's  (the  rector  would  like  to  catch 
them  at  it!)  — the  borough  cemetery!  One  genera- 
tion was  forced  to  make  love  over  the  tombs  of  an- 
other —  and  such  tombs !  —  before  the  days  of  the 
park.  That  is  the  sufficient  answer  to  any  criticism 
of  the  park. 

The  highest  terrace  of  the  park  is  a  splendid  ex- 
panse of  gravel,  ornamented  with  flower-beds.  At 
one  end  is  the  north  bowling-green;  at  the  other  is 
the  south  bowling-green;  in  the  middle  is  a  terra- 
cotta and  glass  shelter;  and  at  intervals,  against  the 
terra-cotta  balustrade,  are  arranged  rustic  seats  from 
which  the  aged,  the  enamoured,  and  the  sedentary 
can  enjoy  the  gold  angel. 

Between  the  southernmost  seat  and  the  south 
bowling-green,  on  that  Saturday  afternoon,  stood  Mr. 
James  Ollerenshaw.  He  was  watching  a  man  who 
earned  four-and-six-pence  a  day  by  gently  toying 
from  time  to  time  with  a  roller  on  the  polished  sur- 
face of  the  green.  Mr.  James  Ollerenshaw's  age 


4       HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

was  sixty;  but  he  looked  as  if  he  did  not  care.  His 
appearance  was  shabby;  but  he  did  not  seem  to 
mind.  He  carried  his  hands  in  the  peculiar  hori- 
zontal pockets  of  his  trousers,  and  stuck  out  his  fig- 
ure, in  a  way  to  indicate  that  he  gave  permission  to 
all  to  think  of  him  exactly  what  they  pleased.  Those 
pockets  were  characteristic  of  the  whole  costume; 
their  very  name  is  unfamiliar  to  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury. They  divide  the  garment  by  a  fissure  whose 
sides  are  kept  together  by  many  buttons,  and  a  de- 
fection on  the  part  of  even  a  few  buttons  is  apt  to 
be  inconvenient.  James  Ollerenshaw  was  one  of  the 
last  persons  in  Bursley  to  defy  fashion  in  the  matter 
of  pockets.  His  suit  was  of  a  strange  hot  colour  — 
like  a  brick  which,  having  become  very  dirty,  has 
been  imperfectly  cleaned  and  then  powdered  with 
sand  —  made  in  a  hard,  eternal,  resistless  cloth,  after 
a  pattern  which  has  not  survived  the  apprenticeship 
of  Five  Towns'  tailors  in  London.  Scarcely  any- 
where save  on  the  person  of  James  Ollerenshaw 
would  you  see  nowadays  that  cloth,  that  tint,  those 
very  short  coat-tails,  that  curved  opening  of  the  waist- 
coat, or  those  trouser-pockets.  The  paper  turned- 
down  collar,  and  the  black  necktie  (of  which  only 
one  square  inch  was  ever  visible),  and  the  paper  cuffs, 
which  finished  the  tailor-made  portion  of  Mr.  Oiler- 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  IDYLL  5 

enshaw,  still  linger  in  sporadic  profusion.  His  low, 
flat-topped  hat  was  faintly  green,  as  though  a  deli- 
cate fungoid  growth  were  just  budding  on  its  black. 
His  small  feet  were  cloistered  in  small,  thick  boots 
of  glittering  brilliance.  The  colour  of  his  face 
matched  that  of  his  suit.  He  had  no  moustache 
and  no  whiskers,  but  a  small,  stiff  grey  beard  was 
rooted  somewhere  under  his  chin.  He  had  kept  a 
good  deal  of  his  hair.  He  was  an  undersized  man, 
with  short  arms  and  legs,  and  all  his  features  — 
mouth,  nose,  ears,  blue  eyes  —  were  small  and  sharp; 
his  head,  as  an  entirety,  was  small.  His  thin  mouth 
was  always  tightly  shut,  except  when  he  spoke.  The 
general  expression  of  his  face  was  one  of  suppressed, 
sarcastic  amusement. 

He  was  always  referred  to  as  Jimmy  Ollerenshaw, 
and  he  may  strike  you  as  what  is  known  as  a  "  char- 
acter," an  oddity.  His  sudden  appearance  at  a 
Royal  Levee  would  assuredly  have  excited  remark, 
and  even  in  Bursley  he  diverged  from  the  ordinary; 
nevertheless,  I  must  expressly  warn  you  against  im- 
agining Mr.  Ollerenshaw  as  an  oddity.  It  is  the 
most  difficult  thing  in  the  world  for  a  man  named 
James  not  to  be  referred  to  as  Jimmy.  The  tempta- 
tion to  the  public  is  almost  irresistible.  Let  him 
have  but  a  wart  on  his  nose,  and  they  will  regard 


6      HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

it  as  sufficient  excuse  for  yielding.  I  do  not  think 
that  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  was  consciously  set  down  as 
an  oddity  in  his  native  town.  Certainly  he  did  not 
so  set  down  himself.  Certainly  he  was  incapable 
of  freakishness.  By  the  town  he  was  respected. 
His  views  on  cottage  property,  the  state  of  trade, 
and  the  finances  of  the  borough  were  listened  to  with 
a  respectful  absence  of  comment.  He  was  one  of 
the  few  who  had  made  cottage  property  pay.  It  was 
said  he  owned  a  mile  of  cottages  in  Bursley  and 
Turnhill.  It  was  said  that,  after  Ephraim  Tell- 
wright,  he  was  the  richest  man  in  Bursley.  There 
was  a  slight  resemblance  of  type  between  Ollerenshaw 
and  Tellwright.  But  Tellwright  had  buried  two 
wives,  whereas  Ollerenshaw  had  never  got  within 
arm's  length  of  a  woman.  The  town  much  pre- 
ferred Ollerenshaw. 

After  having  duly  surveyed  the  majestic  activities 
of  the  ground-man  on  the  bowling-green,  and  hav- 
ing glanced  at  his  watch,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  sat  down 
on  the  nearest  bench;  he  was  waiting  for  an  op- 
ponent, the  captain  of  the  bowling-club.  It  is  ex- 
actly at  the  instant  of  his  downsitting  that  the  drama 
about  to  be  unfolded  properly  begins.  Strolling 
along  from  the  northern  extremity  of  the  terrace  to 
the  southern  was  a  young  woman.  This  young 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  IDYLL  7 

woman,  as  could  be  judged  from  her  free  and  inde- 
pendent carriage,  was  such  a  creature  as,  having 
once  resolved  to  do  a  thing,  is  not  to  be  deterred 
from  doing  it  by  the  caprices  of  other  people.  She 
had  resolved  —  a  resolution  of  no  importance  what- 
ever —  to  seat  herself  on  precisely  the  southernmost 
bench  of  the  terrace.  There  was  not,  indeed,  any 
particular  reason  why  she  should  have  chosen  the 
southernmost  bench;  but  she  had  chosen  it.  She  had 
chosen  it,  afar  off,  while  it  was  yet  empty  and  Mr. 
Ollerenshaw  was  on  his  feet.  When  Mr.  Olleren- 
shaw  dropped  into  a  corner  of  it  the  girl's  first  in- 
stinctive volition  was  to  stop,  earlier  than  she  had 
intended,  at  one  of  the  other  seats. 

Despite  statements  to  the  contrary,  man  is  so  lit- 
tle like  a  sheep  that  when  he  has  a  choice  of  benches 
in  a  park  he  will  always  select  an  empty  one.  This 
rule  is  universal  in  England  and  Scotland,  though 
elsewhere  exceptions  to  it  have  been  known  to  occur. 
But  the  girl,  being  a  girl,  and  being  a  girl  who 
earned  her  own  living,  and  being  a  girl  who  brought 
all  conventions  to  the  bar  of  her  reason  and  forced 
them  to  stand  trial  there,  said  to  herself,  proudly 
and  coldly:  "It  would  be  absurd  on  my  part  to 
change  my  mind.  I  meant  to  occupy  that  bench, 
and  why  should  I  not?  There  is  amply  sufficient 


8       HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

space  for  the  man  and  me  too.  He  has  taken  one 
corner,  and  I  will  take  the  other.  These  notions 
that  girls  have  are  silly."  She  meant  the  notion  that 
she  herself  had  had. 

So  she  floated  forward,  charmingly  and  inexorably. 
She  was  what  in  the  Five  Towns  is  called  "  a  stylish 
piece  of  goods."  She  wore  a  black-and-white  frock, 
of  a  small  check  pattern,  with  a  black  belt  and  long 
black  gloves,  and  she  held  over  her  serenity  a  black 
parasol  richly  flounced  with  black  lace  —  a  toilet 
unusual  in  the  district,  and  as  effective  as  it  was  un- 
usual. She  knew  how  to  carry  it.  She  was  a  tall 
girl,  and  generously  formed,  with  a  complexion  be- 
tween fair  and  dark;  her  age,  perhaps,  about  twenty- 
five.  She  had  the  eye  of  an  empress  —  and  not  an 
empress-consort  either,  nor  an  empress  who  trembles 
in  secret  at  the  rumour  of  cabals  and  intrigues.  Yes, 
considered  as  a  decoration  of  the  terrace,  she  was 
possibly  the  finest,  most  dazzling  thing  that  Bursley 
could  have  produced;  and  Bursley  doubtless  re- 
gretted that  it  could  only  claim  her  as  a  daughter  by 
adoption. 

Approaching,  step  by  dainty  and  precise  step,  the 
seat  invested  by  Mr.  James  Ollerenshaw,  she  arrived 
at  the  point  whence  she  could  distinguish  the  features 
of  her  forestaller;  she  was  somewhat  short-sighted. 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  IDYLL  9 

She  gave  no  outward  sign  of  fear,  irresolution,  cow- 
ardice. But  if  she  had  not  been  more  afraid  of  her 
own  contempt  than  of  anything  else  in  the  world, 
she  would  have  run  away;  she  would  have  ceased 
being  an  empress  and  declined  suddenly  into  a  scared 
child.  However,  her  fear  of  her  own  contempt  kept 
her  spine  straight,  her  face  towards  the  danger,  and 
her  feet  steadily  moving. 

"  It's  not  my  fault,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I 
meant  to  occupy  that  bench  and  occupy  it  I  will. 
What  have  I  to  be  ashamed  of?  " 

And  she  did  occupy  that  bench.  She  contrived 
to  occupy  it  without  seeing  Mr.  Ollerenshaw.  Each 
separate  movement  of  hers  denied  absolutely  the 
existence  of  Mr.  Ollerenshaw.  She  arranged  her 
dress,  and  her  parasol,  and  her  arms,  and  the  exact 
angle  of  her  chin;  and  there  gradually  fell  upon  her 
that  stillness  which  falls  upon  the  figure  of  a  woman 
when  she  has  definitively  adopted  an  attitude  in  the 
public  eye.  She  was  gazing  at  the  gold  angel,  a 
mile  off,  which  flashed  in  the  sun.  But  what  a  de- 
ceptive stillness  was  that  stillness!  A  hammer  was 
hammering  away  under  her  breast,  with  what  seemed 
to  her  a  reverberating  sound.  Strange  that  that 
hammering  did  not  excite  attention  throughout  the 
park !  Then  she  had  the  misfortune  to  think  of  the 


io    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

act  of  blushing.  She  violently  willed  not  to  blush. 
But  her  blood  was  too  much  for  her.  It  displayed 
itself  in  the  most  sanguinary  manner  first  in  the  cen- 
tre of  each  cheek,  and  it  increased  its  area  of  conquest 
until  the  whole  of  her  visible  skin  —  even  the  back 
of  her  neck  and  her  lobes  —  had  rosily  yielded. 
And  she  was  one  of  your  girls  who  never  blush! 
The  ignominy  of  it!  To  blush  because  she  found 
herself  within  thirty  inches  of  a  man,  an  old  man, 
with  whom  she  had  never  in  her  life  exchanged  a 
single  word  1 


CHAPTER  II 

AN   AFFAIR   OF   THE   SEVENTIES 

HAVING  satisfied  her  obstinacy  by  sitting  down  on  the 
seat  of  her  choice,  she  might  surely  —  one  would 
think  —  have  ended  a  mysteriously  difficult  situation 
by  rising  again  and  departing,  of  course  with  due 
dignity.  But  no!  She  could  not!  She  wished  to 
do  so,  but  she  could  not  command  her  limbs.  She 
just  sat  there,  in  horridest  torture,  like  a  stoical  fly 
on  a  pin  —  one  of  those  flies  that  pretend  that  noth- 
ing hurts.  The  agony  might  have  been  prolonged 
to  centuries  had  not  an  extremely  startling  and  dra- 
matic thing  happened  —  the  most  startling  and  dra- 
matic thing  that  ever  happened  either  to  James 
Ollerenshaw  or  to  the  young  woman.  James  Oller- 
enshaw  spoke,  and  I  imagine  that  nobody  was  more 
surprised  than  James  Ollerenshaw  by  his  brief  speech, 
which  slipped  out  of  him  quite  unawares.  What  he 
said  was: 

"Well,  lass,  how  goes  it,  like?" 

If  the  town  could  have  heard  him,  the  town  would 
II 


12     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

have  rustled  from  boundary  to  boundary  with  agi- 
tated and  delicious  whisperings. 

The  young  woman,  instead  of  being  justly  in- 
censed by  this  monstrous  molestation  from  an  aged 
villain  who  had  not  been  introduced  to  her,  gave  a 
little  jump  (as  though  relieved  from  the  spell  of  an 
enchantment) ,  and  then  deliberately  turned  and  faced 
Mr.  Ollerenshaw.  She  also  smiled,  amid  her  roses. 

"  Very  well  indeed,  thank  you,"  she  replied, 
primly,  but  nicely. 

Upon  this,  they  both  of  them  sought  to  recover 
—  from  an  affair  that  had  occurred  in  the  late  seven- 
ties. 

In  the  late  seventies  James  Ollerenshaw  had  been 
a  young-old  man  of  nearly  thirty.  He  had  had  a 
stepbrother,  much  older  and  much  poorer  than  him- 
self, and  the  stepbrother  had  died,  leaving  a  daugh- 
ter, named  Susan,  almost,  but  not  quite,  in  a  state  of 
indigence.  The  stepbrother  and  James  had  not  been 
on  terms  of  effusive  cordiality.  But  James  was  per- 
fectly ready  to  look  after  Susan,  his  stepniece. 
Susan,  aged  seventeen  years,  was,  however,  not  per- 
fectly ready  to  be  looked  after.  She  had  a  little 
money,  and  she  earned  a  little  (by  painting  asters  on 
toilet  ware),  and  the  chit  was  very  rude  to  her  step- 
uncle.  In  less  than  a  year  she  had  married  a  youth 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  THE  SEVENTIES     13 

of  twenty,  who  apparently  had  not  in  him  even  the 
rudiments  of  worldly  successfulness.  James  Olleren- 
shaw  did  his  avuncular  duty  by  formally  and  grimly 
protesting  against  the  marriage.  But  what  authority 
has  a  stepuncle  ?  Susan  defied  him,  with  a  maximum 
of  unforgettable  impoliteness;  and  she  went  to  live 
with  her  husband  at  Longshaw,  which  is  at  the  other 
end  of  the  Five  Towns.  The  fact  became  public 
that  a  solemn  quarrel  existed  between  James  and 
Susan,  and  that  each  of  them  had  sworn  not  to  speak 
until  the  other  spoke.  James  would  have  forgiven, 
if  she  had  hinted  at  reconciliation.  And,  hard  as  it 
is  for  youth  to  be  in  the  wrong,  Susan  would  have 
hinted  at  reconciliation  if  James  had  not  been  so  rich. 
The  riches  of  James  offended  Susan's  independence. 
Not  for  millions  would  she  have  exposed  herself  to 
the  suspicion  that  she  had  broken  her  oath  because 
her  stepuncle  was  a  wealthy  and  childless  man.  She 
was,  of  course,  wrong.  Nor  was  this  her  only  indis- 
cretion. She  was  so  ridiculously  indiscreet  as  to  in- 
fluence her  husband  in  such  a  way  that  he  actually 
succeeded  in  life.  Had  James  perceived  them  to  be 
struggling  in  poverty,  he  might  conceivably  have  gone 
over  to  them  and  helped  them,  in  an  orgy  of  for- 
giving charity.  But  the  success  of  young  Rathbone 
falsified  his  predictions  utterly,  and  was,  further,  an 


14     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

affront  to  him.  Thus  the  quarrel  slowly  crystallised 
into  a  permanent  estrangement,  a  passive  feud. 
Everybody  got  thoroughly  accustomed  to  it,  and 
thought  nothing  of  it,  it  being  a  social  phenomenon 
not  at  all  unique  of  its  kind  in  the  Five  Towns. 
When,  fifteen  years  later,  Rathbone  died  in  mid- 
career,  people  thought  that  the  feud  would  end. 
But  it  did  not.  James  wrote  a  letter  of  condolence 
to  his  niece,  and  even  sent  it  to  Longshaw  by  special 
messenger  in  the  tramcar;  but  he  had  not  heard  of 
the  death  until  the  day  of  the  funeral,  and  Mrs. 
Rathbone  did  not  reply  to  his  letter.  Her  inde- 
pendence and  sensitiveness  were  again  in  the  wrong. 
James  did  no  more.  You  could  not  expect  him  to 
have  done  more.  Mrs.  Rathbone,  like  many  widows 
of  successful  men,  was  "  left  poorly  off."  But  she 
"  managed."  Once,  five  years  before  the  scene  on 
the  park  terrace,  Mrs.  Rathbone  and  James  had 
encountered  one  another  by  hazard  on  the  platform 
of  Knype  Railway  Station.  Destiny  hesitated  while 
Susan  waited  for  James's  recognition  and  James 
waited  for  Susan's  recognition.  Both  of  them  waited 
too  long.  Destiny  averted  its  head  and  drew  back, 
and  the  relatives  passed  on  their  ways  without  speak- 
ing. James  observed  with  interest  a  girl  of  twenty 
by  Susan's  side  —  her  daughter.  This  daughter  of 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  THE  SEVENTIES     15 

Susan's  was  now  sharing  the  park  bench  with  him. 
Hence  the  hidden  drama  of  their  meeting,  of  his 
speech,  of  her  reply. 

"  And  what's  your  name,  lass?  " 

"  Helen." 

"Helen  what?" 

"  Helen,  "great-stepuncle,"  said  she. 

He  laughed ;  and  she  laughed  also.  The  fact  was 
that  he  had  been  aware  of  her  name,  vaguely.  It 
had  come  to  him,  on  the  wind,  or  by  some  bird's 
wing,  although  none  of  his  acquaintances  had  been 
courageous  enough  to  speak  to  him  about  the  affair 
of  Susan  for  quite  twenty  years  past.  Longshaw 
is  as  far  from  Bursley,  in  some  ways,  as  San  Fran- 
cisco from  New  York.  There  are  people  in  Bursley 
who  do  not  know  the  name  of  the  Mayor  of  Long- 
shaw —  who  make  a  point  of  not  knowing  it.  Yet 
news  travels  even  from  Longshaw  to  Bursley,  by 
mysterious  channels;  and  Helen  Rathbone's  name 
had  so  travelled.  James  Ollerenshaw  was  glad  that 
she  was  just  Helen.  He  had  been  afraid  that  there 
might  be  something  fancy  between  Helen  and  Rath- 
bone  —  something  expensive  and  aristocratic  that 
went  with  her  dress  and  her  parasol.  He  illogically 
liked  her  for  being  called  merely  Helen  —  as  if  the 
credit  were  hers!  Helen  was  an  old  Ollerenshaw 


1 6     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

name  —  his  grandmother's  (who  had  been  attached 
to  the  household  of  Josiah  Wedgwood),  and  his 
aunt's.  Helen  was  historic  in  his  mind.  And,  fur- 
ther, it  could  not  be  denied  that  Rathbone  was  a  fine 
old  Five  Towns  name  too. 

He  was  very  illogical  that  afternoon;  he  threw 
over  the  principles  of  a  lifetime,  arguing  from  par- 
ticulars to  generals  exactly  like  a  girl.  He  had  ob- 
jected, always,  to  the  expensive  and  the  aristocratic. 
He  was  proud  of  his  pure  plebeian  blood,  as  many 
plebeians  are;  he  gloried  in  it.  He  disliked  show, 
with  a  calm  and  deep  aversion.  He  was  a  plain  man 
with  a  simple,  unostentatious  taste  for  money.  The 
difference  between  Helen's  name  and  her  ornamental 
raiment  gave  him  pleasure  in  the  name.  But  he  had 
not  been  examining  her  for  more  than  half  a  minute 
when  he  began  to  find  pleasure  in  her  rich  clothes 
(rich,  that  is,  to  him!).  Quite  suddenly  he,  at  the 
age  of  sixty,  abandoned  without  an  effort  his  dear 
prejudice  against  fine  feathers,  and  began,  for  the 
first  time,  to  take  joy  in  sitting  next  to  a  pretty  and 
well-dressed  woman.  And  all  this,  not  from  any 
broad,  philosophic  perception  that  fine  feathers  have 
their  proper*  part  in  the  great  scheme  of  cosmic  evo- 
lution; but  because  the  check  dress  suited  her,  and 
the  heavy,  voluptuous  parasol  suited  her,  and  the 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  THE  SEVENTIES      17 

long  black  gloves  were  inexplicably  effective. 
Women  grow  old;  women  cease  to  learn;  but  men, 
never. 

As  for  Helen,  she  liked  him.  She  had  liked  him 
for  five  years,  ever  since  her  mother  had  pointed  him 
out  on  the  platform  of  Knype  Railway  Station.  She 
saw  him  closer  now.  He  was  older  than  she  had 
been  picturing  him;  indeed,  the  lines  on  his  little, 
rather  wizened  face,  and  the  minute  sproutings  of 
grey-white  hair  in  certain  spots  on  his  reddish  chin, 
where  he  had  shaved  himself  badly,  caused  her  some- 
how to  feel  quite  sad.  She  thought  of  him  as  "  a 
dear  old  thing,"  and  then  as  "  a  dear  old  darling." 
Yes,  old,  very  old!  Nevertheless,  she  felt  maternal 
towards  him.  She  felt  that  she  was  much  wiser 
than  he  was,  and  that  she  could  teach  him  a  great 
deal.  She  saw  very  clearly  how  wrong  he  and  her 
mother  had  been,  with  their  stupidly  terrific  quarrel; 
and  the  notion  of  all  the  happiness  which  he  had 
missed,  in  his  solitary,  unfeminised,  bachelor  exist- 
ence, nearly  brought  into  her  eyes  tears  of  a  quick 
and  generous  sympathy. 

He,  blind  and  shabby  ancient,  had  no  suspicion 
that  his  melancholy  state  and  the  notion  of  all  the 
happiness  he  had  missed  had  tinged  with  sorrow  the 
heart  within  the  frock,  and  added  a  dangerous  hu- 


1 8     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

midity  to  the  glance  under  the  sunshade.  It  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  he  was  an  object  of  pity,  nor  that 
a  vast  store  of  knowledge  was  waiting  to  be  poured 
into  him.  The  aged,  self-satisfied  wag-beard  im- 
agined that  he  had  conducted  his  career  fairly  well. 
He  knew  no  one  with  whom  he  would  have  changed 
places.  He  regarded  Helen  as  an  extremely  agree- 
able little  thing,  with  her  absurd  air  of  being  grown- 
up. Decidedly  in  five  years  she  had  tremendously 
altered.  Five  years  ago  she  had  been  gawky.  Now 
.  .  .  Well,  he  was  proud  of  her.  She  had  called 
him  great-stepuncle,  thus  conferring  on  him  a  sort  of 
part-proprietorship  in  her;  and  he  was  proud  of  her. 
The  captain  of  the  bowling-club  came  along,  and 
James  Ollerenshaw  gave  him  just  such  a  casual  nod 
as  he  might  have  given  to  a  person  of  no  account. 
The  nod  seemed  to  say:  "  Match  this,  if  you  can. 
It's  mine,  and  there's  nothing  in  the  town  to  beat  it. 
Mrs.  Prockter  herself  hasn't  got  more  style  than 
this."  (Of  this  Mrs.  Prockter,  more  later.) 

Helen  soon  settled  down  into  a  condition  of  ease, 
which  put  an  end  to  blushing.  She  knew  she  was 
admired. 

"  What  are  you  doing  i'  Bosley? "  James  de- 
manded. 

"  I'm  living  i'  Bosley,"  she  retorted,  smartly. 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  THE  SEVENTIES     19 

"Living  here!  "  He  stopped,  and  his  hard  old 
heart  almost  stopped  too.  If  not  in  mourning,  she 
was  in  semi-mourning.  Surely  Susan  had  not  had 
the  effrontery  to  die,  away  in  Longshaw,  without  tell- 
ing him ! 

"  Mother  has  married  again,"  said  Helen,  lightly. 

"Married!"  He  was  staggered.  The  wind 
was  knocked  out  of  him. 

"  Yes.     And  gone  to  Canada !  "  Helen  added. 

You  pick  up  your  paper  in  the  morning,  and  idly 
and  slowly  peruse  the  advertisements  on  the  first 
page,  forget  it,  eat^some  bacon,  grumble  at  the  young- 
est boy,  open  the  paper,  read  the  breach  of  promise 
case  on  page  three,  drop  it,  and  ask  your  wife  for 
more  coffee  —  hot  —  glance  at  your  letters  again, 
then  reopen  the  paper  at  the  news  page,  and  find 
that  the  Tsar  of  Russia  has  been  murdered,  and  a 
few  American  cities  tumbled  to  fragments  by  an 
earthquake  —  you  know  how  you  feel  then.  James 
Ollerenshaw  felt  like  that.  The  captain  of  the 
bowling-club,  however,  poising  a  bowl  in  his  right 
hand,  and  waiting  for  James  Ollerenshaw  to  leave 
his  silken  dalliance,  saw  nothing  but  an  old  man  and 
a  young  woman  sitting  on  a  Corporation  seat. 


CHAPTER  III 

MARRYING   OFF   A   MOTHER 

"  YES,"  said  Helen  Rathbone,  "  mother  fell  in  love. 
Don't  you  think  it  was  funny?  " 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  James  Ollerenshaw  replied, 
in  his  quality  of  the  wiseacre  who  is  accustomed  to 
be  sagacious  on  the  least  possible  expenditure  of 
words. 

"  We  both  thought  it  was  awfully  funny,"  Helen 
said. 

"Both?     Who  else  is  there?" 

"  Why,  mother  and  I,  of  course !  We  used  to 
laugh  over  it.  You  see,  mother  is  a  very  simple 
creature.  And  she's  only  forty-four." 

"  She's  above  forty-four,"  James  corrected. 

"  She  told  me  she  was  thirty-nine  five  years  ago," 
Helen  protested. 

"  Did  she  tell  ye  she  was  forty,  four  years  ago?  " 

"  No.     At  least,  I  don't  remember." 

"  Did  she  ever  tell  ye  she  was  forty?  " 

"  No." 

20 


MARRYING  OFF  A  MOTHER         21 

"  Happen  she's  not  such  a  simple  creature  as  ye 
thought  for,  my  lass,"  observed  James  Ollerenshaw. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  infer,"  said  Helen,  with  cold 
dignity,  "  that  my  mother  would  tell  me  a  lie?  " 

"  All  as  I  mean  is  that  Susan  was  above  thirty- 
nine  five  years  ago,  and  I  can  prove  it.  I  had  to  get 
her  birth  certificate  when  her  father  died,  and  I 
fancy  I've  got  it  by  me  yet."  And  his  eyes  added: 
"  So  much  for  that  point.  One  to  me." 

Helen  blushed  and  frowned,  and  looked  up  into 
the  darkling  heaven  of  her  parasol;  and  then  it  oc- 
curred to  her  that  her  wisest  plan  would  be  to  laugh. 
So  she  laughed.  She  laughed  in  almost  precisely 
the  same  manner  as  James  had  heard  Susan  laugh 
thirty  years  previously,  before  love  had  come  into 
Susan's  life  like  a  shell  into  a  fortress,  and  finally 
blown  their  fragile  relations  all  to  pieces.  A  few 
minutes  earlier  the  sight  of  great-stepuncle  James  had 
filled  Helen  with  sadness,  and  he  had  not  suspected 
it.  Now  her  laugh  filled  James  with  sadness,  and 
she  did  not  suspect  it.  In  his  sadness,  however,  he 
was  glad  that  she  laughed  so  naturally,  and  that  the 
sombre  magnificence  of  her  dress  and  her  gloves  and 
parasol  did  not  prevent  her  from  opening  her  rather 
large  mouth  and  showing  her  teeth. 

"  It  was  just  like  mother  to  tell  me  fibs  about  her 


22     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

age,"  said  Helen,  generously  (it  is  always  interesting 
to  observe  the  transformation  of  a  lie  into  a  fib). 
"  And  I  shall  write  and  tell  her  she's  a  horrid  mean 
thing.  I  shall  write  to  her  this  very  night." 

"  So  Susan's  gone  and  married  again !  "  James 
murmured,  reflectively. 

Helen  now  definitely  turned  the  whole  of  her  mor- 
tal part  towards  James,  so  that  she  fronted  him,  and 
her  feet  were  near  his.  He  also  turned,  in  response 
to  this  diplomatic  advance,  and  leant  his  right  elbow 
on  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  his  chin  on  his  right 
palm.  He  put  his  left  leg  over  his  right  leg,  and 
thus  his  left  foot  swayed  like  a  bird  on  a  twig  within 
an  inch  of  Helen's  flounce.  The  parasol  covered  the 
faces  of  the  just  and  the  unjust  impartially. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  know  a  farmer  named  Bratt 
that  used  to  have  a  farm  near  Sneyd?  "  said  Helen. 

"  I  can't  say  as  I  do,"  said  James. 

"  Well,  that's  the  man !  "  said  Helen.  "  He  used 
to  come  to  Longshaw  cattle-market  with  sheep  and 
things." 

"Sheep  and  things!"  echoed  James.  "What 
things?" 

"Oh!  I  don't  know,"  said  Helen,  sharply. 
"  Sheep  and  things." 

"  And  what  did  your  mother  take  to  Longshaw 


MARRYING  OFF  A  MOTHER         23 

cattle-market?"  James  inquired.  "I  understood  as 
she  let  lodgings." 

"  Not  since  I've  been  a  teacher,"  said  Helen, 
rather  more  sharply.  "  Mother  didn't  take  any- 
thing to  the  cattle-market.  But  you  know  our  house 
was  just  close  to  the  cattle-market." 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  James,  stoutly.  "  I  thought 
as  it  was  in  Aynsley-street." 

"  Oh !  that's  years  ago !  "  said  Helen,  shocked  by 
his  ignorance.  "  We've  lived  in  Sneyd-road  for 
years  —  years." 

"  I'll  not  deny  it,"  said  James. 

"  The  great  fault  of  our  house,"  Helen  proceeded, 
"  was  that  mother  daren't  stir  out  of  it  on  cattle- 
market  days." 

"  Why  not?" 

"Cows!"  said  Helen.  "Mother  simply  can't 
look  at  a  cow,  and  they  were  passing  all  the 
time." 

"  She  should  ha'  been  thankful  as  it  wasn't  bulls," 
James  put  in. 

"  But  I  mean  bulls  too!  "  exclaimed  Helen.  "  In 
fact,  it  was  a  bull  that  led  to  it." 

"  What !  Th'  farmer  saved  her  from  a  mad  bull, 
and  she  fell  in  love  with  him?  He's  younger  than 
her,  Hay!" 


24     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"How  did  you  know  that?"  Helen  questioned. 
"  Besides,  he  isn't.  They're  just  the  same  age." 

"Forty-four?"  Perceiving  delicious  danger  in 
the  virgin's  face,  James  continued  before  she  could 
retort,  "  I  hope  Susan  wasn't  gored?  " 

"  You're  quite  wrong.  You're  jumping  to  conclu- 
sions," said  Helen,  with  an  air  of  indulgence  that 
would  have  been  exasperating  had  it  not  been  en- 
chanting. "  Things  don't  happen  like  that  except  in 
novels." 

"  I've  never  read  a  novel  in  my  life,"  James  de- 
fended himself. 

"Haven't  you?     How  interesting!  " 

"  But  I've  known  a  woman  knocked  down  by  a 
bull." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  mother  wasn't  knocked  down  by 
a  bull.  But  there  was  a  mad  bull  running  down  the 
street;  it  had  escaped  from  the  market.  And  Mr. 
Bratt  was  walking  home,  and  the  bull  was  after  him 
like  a  shot.  Mother  was  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  she  saw  what  was  going  on.  So  she  rushed 
to  the  front  door  and  opened  it,  and  called  to  Mr. 
Bratt  to  run  in  and  take  shelter.  And  they  only 
just  got  the  door  shut  in  time." 

"  Bless  us !  "  muttered  James.  "  And  what 
next?" 


MARRYING  OFF  A  MOTHER         23 

"  Why,  I  came  home  from  school  and  found  them 
having  tea  together." 

"And  ninety  year  between  them!"  James  re- 
flected. 

"  Then  Mr.  Bratt  called  every  week.  He  was  a 
widower,  with  no  children." 

"  It  couldn't  ha'  been  better,"  said  James. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  could,"  said  Helen.  "  Because  I  had 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  marrying  them;  in  fact,  at 
one  time  I  thought  I  should  never  do  it.  I'm  always 
in  the  right,  and  mother's  always  in  the  wrong. 
She's  admitted  that  for  years.  She's  had  to  admit 
it.  Yet  she  would  go  her  own  way.  Nothing  would 
ever  cure  mother." 

"  She  used  to  talk  just  like  that  of  your  grand- 
father," said  James.  "  Susan  always  reckoned  as 
she'd  got  more  than  her  fair  share  of  sense." 

"  I  don't  think  she  thinks  that  now,"  said  Helen, 
calmly,  as  if  to  say:  "At  any  rate  I've  cured  her 
of  that"  Then  she  went  on :  "  You  see,  Mr.  Bratt 
had  sold  his  farm  —  couldn't  make  it  pay  —  and  he 
was  going  out  to  Manitoba.  He  said  he  would  stop 
in  England.  Mother  said  she  wouldn't  let  him  stop 
in  England  where  he  couldn't  make  a  farm  pay. 
She  was  quite  right  there,"  Helen  admitted,  with 
careful  justice.  "  But  then  she  said  she  wouldn't 


26     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

marry  him  and  go  out  to  Manitoba,  because  of  leav- 
ing me  alone  here  to  look  after  myself!  Can  you 
imagine  such  a  reason?  " 

James  merely  raised  his  head  quickly  several 
times.  The  gesture  meant  whatever  Helen  preferred 
that  it  should  mean. 

"The  idea!"  she  continued.  "As  if  I  hadn't 
looked  after  mother  and  kept  her  in  order,  and  my- 
self, too,  for  several  years!  No.  She  wouldn't 
marry  him  and  go  out  there!  And  she  wouldn't 
marry  him  and  stay  here!  She  actually  began  to 
talk  all  the  usual  conventional  sort  of  stuff,  you 
know  —  about  how  she  had  no  right  to  marry  again, 
and  she  didn't  believe  in  second  marriages,  and  about 
her  duty  to  me.  And  so  on.  You  know.  I  rea- 
soned with  her  —  I  explained  to  her  that  probably 
she  had  another  thirty  years  to  live.  I  told  her  she 
was  quite  young.  She  is.  And  why  should  she 
make  herself  permanently  miserable,  and  Mr.  Bratt, 
and  me,  merely  out  of  a  quite  mistaken  sense  of 
duty?  No  use!  I  tried  everything  I  could.  No 
use!" 

"  She  was  too  much  for  ye?  " 

"  Oh,  no!  "  said  Helen,  condescendingly.  "  I'd 
made  up  my  mind.  I  arranged  things  with  Mr. 
Bratt.  He  quite  agreed  with  me.  He  took  out  a 


MARRYING  OFF  A  MOTHER         27 

licence  at  the  registrar's,  and  one  Saturday  morning 
—  it  had  to  be  a  Saturday,  because  I'm  busy  all  the 
other  days  —  I  went  out  with  mother  to  buy  the 
meat  and  things  for  Sunday's  dinner,  and  I  got  her 
into  the  registrar's  office  —  and,  well,  there  she  was  I 
Now,  what  do  you  think?  " 

"What?" 

"  Her  last  excuse  was  that  she  couldn't  be  mar- 
ried because  she  was  wearing  her  third-best  hat. 
Don't  you  think  it's  awfully  funny?  " 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  said  James.  "  When  was 
all  this?" 

"  Just  recently,"  Helen  answered.  "  They  sailed 
from  Glasgow  last  Thursday  but  two.  And  I'm  ex- 
pecting a  letter  by  every  post  to  say  that  they've  ar- 
rived safely." 

"  And  Susan's  left  you  to  take  care  of  yourself !  " 

"  Now,  please  don't  begin  talking  like  mother,'* 
Helen  said,  frigidly.  "  I've  certainly  got  less  to  take 
care  of  now  than  I  had.  Mother  quite  saw  that. 
But  what  difficulty  I  had  in  getting  her  off,  even  after 
I'd  safely  married  her!  I  had  to  promise  that  if 
I  felt  lonely  I'd  go  and  join  them.  But  I  shan't." 

"You  won't?" 

"  No.  I  don't  see  myself  on  a  farm  in  Manitoba. 
Do  you?" 


28     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  do,"  said  James,  examining  her 
appearance,  with  a  constant  increase  of  his  pride  in 
it.  "So  ye  saw  'em  off  at  Glasgow.  I  reckon  she 
made  a  great  fuss?" 

"Fuss?" 

"  Cried." 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course." 

"  Did  you  cry,  miss?  " 

"  Of  course  I  cried,"  said  Helen,  passionately,  sit- 
ting up  straight.  "  Why  do  you  ask  such  ques- 
tions?" 

"  And  us'll  never  see  Susan  again?  " 

"  Of  course  I  shall  go  over  and  see  them,"  said 
Helen.  "  I  only  meant  that  I  shouldn't  go  to  stop. 
I  daresay  I  shall  go  next  year,  in  the  holidays." 


CHAPTER  IV 

INVITATION   TO   TEA 

THEY  were  most  foolishly  happy  as  they  sat  there 
on  the  bench,  this  man  whose  dim  eyes  ought  to  have 
been  waiting  placidly  for  the  ship  of  death  to  appear 
above  the  horizon,  and  this  young  girl  who  imagined 
that  she  knew  all  about  life  and  the  world.  When 
I  say  that  they  were  foolishly  happy,  I  of  course  mean 
that  they  were  most  wisely  happy.  Each  of  them, 
being  gifted  with  common  sense,  and  with  a  certain 
imperviousness  to  sentimentality  which  invariably  ac- 
companies common  sense,  they  did  not  mar  the  pres- 
ent by  regretting  the  tragic  stupidity  of  a  long  es- 
trangement; they  did  not  mourn  over  wasted  years 
that  could  not  be  recalled.  It  must  be  admitted,  in 
favour  of  the  Five  Towns,  that  when  its  inhabitants 
spill  milk  they  do  not  usually  sit  down  on  the  pave- 
ment and  adulterate  the  milk  with  their  tears.  They 
pass  on.  Such  passing  on  is  termed  callous  and  cold- 
hearted  in  the  rest  of  England,  which  loves  to  sit 
down  on  pavements  and  weep  into  irretrievable  milk. 
Nor  did  Helen  and  her  great-stepuncle  mar  the 
29 


30    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

present  by  worrying  about  the  future;  it  never  oc- 
curred to  them  to  be  disturbed  by  the  possibility  that 
milk  not  already  spilt  might  yet  be  spilt. 

Helen  had  been  momentarily  saddened  by  private 
reflections  upon  what  James  Ollerenshaw  had  missed 
in  his  career;  and  James  had  been  saddened,  some- 
what less,  by  reminiscences  which  had  sprung  out  of 
Helen's  laugh.  But  their  melancholies  had  rapidly 
evaporated  in  the  warmth  of  the  unexpected  encoun- 
ter. They  liked  one  another.  She  liked  him  be- 
cause he  was  old  and  dry;  and  because  he  had  a  short 
laugh,  and  a  cynical  and  even  wicked  gleam  of  the 
eye  that  pleased  her ;  and  because  there  was  an  occa- 
sional tone  in  his  voice  that  struck  her  as  deliciously 
masculine,  ancient,  and  indulgent ;  and  because  he  had 
spoken  to  her  first;  and  because  his  gaze  wandered 
with  an  admiring  interest  over  her  dress  and  up  into 
the  dome  of  her  sunshade ;  and  because  he  put  his  chin 
in  his  palm  and  leant  his  head  towards  her;  and  be- 
cause the  skin  of  his  hand  was  so  crinkled  and  glossy. 
And  he  liked  her  because  she  was  so  exquisitely  fresh 
and  candid,  so  elegant,  so  violent  and  complete  a  con- 
trast to  James  Ollerenshaw;  so  absurdly  sagacious 
and  sure  of  herself,  and  perhaps  because  of  a  curve  in 
her  cheek,  and  a  mysterious  suggestion  of  eternal 
enigma  in  her  large  and  liquid  eye.  When  she  looked 


INVITATION  TO  TEA  31 

right  away  from  him,  as  she  sometimes  did  in  the  con- 
versation, the  outline  of  her  soft  cheek,  which  drew 
in  at  the  eye  and  swelled  out  again  to  the  temple,  re- 
sembled a  map  of  the  coast  of  some  smooth,  romantic 
country  not  mentioned  in  geographies.  When  she 
looked  at  him  —  well,  the  effect  on  him  astonished 
him ;  but  it  enchanted  him.  He  was  discovering  for 
the  first  time  the  soul  of  a  girl.  If  he  was  a  little 
taken  aback  he  is  to  be  excused.  Younger  men  than 
he  have  been  taken  aback  by  that  discovery.  But 
James  Ollerenshaw  did  not  behave  as  a  younger  man 
would  have  behaved.  He  was  more  like  some  one 
who,  having  heard  tell  of  the  rose  for  sixty  years,  and 
having  paid  no  attention  to  rumour,  suddenly  sees  a 
rose  in  early  bloom.  At  his  age  one  knows  how  to 
treat  a  flower;  one  knows  what  flowers  are  for. 

It  was  no  doubt  this  knowledge  of  what  flowers  are 
for  that  almost  led  to  the  spilling  of  milk  at  the  very 
moment  when  milk-spilling  seemed  in  a  high  degree 
improbable. 

The  conversation  had  left  Susan  and  her  caprices, 
and  had  reached  Helen  and  her  solid  wisdom. 

"  But  you  haven't  told  me  what  you're  doing  i' 
Bosley,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  I've  told  you  I'm  living  here,"  said  Helen. 
"  I've  now  been  living  here  for  one  week  and  one 


32     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

day.  I'm  teaching  at  the  Park  Road  Board  School. 
I  got  transferred  from  Longshaw.  I  never  liked 
Longshaw,  and  I  always  like  a  change." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ollerenshaw,  judiciously,  "  of  the  two 
I  reckon  as  Bosley  is  the  frying-pan.  So  you're  teach- 
ing up  yonder?  "  He  jerked  his  elbow  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  spacious  and  imposing  terra-cotta  Board 
School,  whose  front  looked  on  the  eastern  gates  of  the 
park.  "What  dost  teach?" 

"  Oh,  everything,"  Helen  replied. 

"  You  must  be  very  useful  to  'em,"  said  James. 
"  What  do  they  pay  you  for  teaching  everything?  " 
j  "  Seventy-two  pounds,"  said  Helen. 

"A  month?  It 'ud  be  cheap  at  a  hundred,  lass; 
unless  there's  a  whole  crowd  on  ye  as  can  teach  every- 
thing. Can  you  sew?" 

"  Sew !  "  she  exclaimed.  *'  I've  given  lessons  in 
sewing  for  years.  And  cookery.  And  mathematics. 
I  used  to  give  evening  lessons  in  mathematics  at  Long- 
shaw secondary  school." 

Great-stepuncle  James  gazed  at  her.  It  was  use- 
less for  him  to  try  to  pretend  to  himself  that  he  was 
not,  secretly,  struck  all  of  a  heap  by  the  wonders  of 
the  living  organism  in  front  of  him.  He  was.  And 
this  shows,  though  he  was  a  wise  man  and  an  experi- 
enced, how  ignorant  he  was  of  the  world.  But  I  do 


INVITATION  TO  TEA  33 

not  think  he  was  more  ignorant  of  the  world  than 
most  wise  and  experienced  men  are.  He  conceived 
Helen  Rathbone  as  an  extraordinary,  an  amazing 
creature.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  There  are  simply 
thousands  of  agreeable  and  good  girls  who  can  ac- 
complish herring-bone,  omelettes,  and  simultaneous 
equations  in  a  breath,  as  it  were.  They  are  all  over 
the  kingdom,  and  may  be  seen  in  the  streets  and  lanes 
thereof  about  half-past  eight  in  the  morning  and 
again  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening.  But  the  fact 
is  not  generally  known.  Only  the  stern  and  blase 
members  of  School  Boards  or  Education  Commit- 
tees know  it.  And  they  are  so  used  to  marvels  that 
they  make  nothing  of  them. 

However,  James  Ollerenshaw  had  no  intention  of 
striking  his  flag. 

"  Mathematics !  "  he  murmured.  "  I  lay  you  can't 
tell  me  the  interest  on  eighty-nine  pounds  for  six" 
months  at  four  and  a  half  per  cent." 

Consols  happened  to  be  at  eighty-nine  that  day. 

Her  lips  curled.  "  I'm  really  quite  surprised  you 
should  encourage  me  to  gamble,"  said  she.  "  But 
I'll  bet  you  a  shilling  I  can.  And  I'll  bet  you  one 
shilling  against  half-a-crown  that  I  do  it  in  my  head, 
if  you  like.  And  if  I  lose  I'll  pay." 

She  made  a  slight  movement,  and  he  noticed  for 


34     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

the  first  time  that  she  was  carrying  a  small  purse  as 
black  as  her  glove. 

He  hesitated,  and  then  he  proved  what  a  wise  and 
experienced  man  he  was. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I'll  none  bet  ye,  lass." 

He  had  struck  his  flag. 

It  is  painful  to  be  compelled  to  reinforce  the  old 
masculine  statement  that  women  have  no  sense  of 
honour.  But  have  they?  Helen  clearly  saw  that 
he  had  hauled  down  his  flag.  Yet  did  she  cease 
firing?  Not  a  bit.  She  gave  him  a  shattering 
broadside,  well  knowing  that  he  had  surrendered. 
Her  disregard  of  the  ethics  of  warfare  was  deplor- 
able. 

"  Two  pounds  and  one  half-penny  —  to  the  nearest 
farthing,"  said  she,  a  faint  blush  crimsoning  her 
cheek. 

Mr.  Ollerenshaw  glanced  round  at  the  bowling- 
green,  where  the  captain  in  vain  tried  to  catch  his 
eye,  and  then  at  the  groups  of  children  playing  on  the 
lower  terraces. 

"  I  make  no  doubt  ye  can  play  the  piano?  "  he  re- 
marked, when  he  had  recovered. 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied.  "  Not  that  we  have  to 
teach  the  piano.  No!  But  it's  understood,  all  the 


INVITATION  TO  TEA  35 

same,  that  one  or  another  of  us  can  play  marches  for 
the  children  to  walk  and  drill  to.  In  fact,"  .she 
added,  "  for  something  less  than  thirty  shillings  a 
week  we  do  pretty  nearly  everything,  except  build  the 
schools.  And  soon  they'll  be  expecting  us  to  build 
the  new  schools  in  our  spare  time."  She  spoke  bit- 
terly, as  a  native  of  the  Congo  Free  State  might  refer 
to  the  late  King  of  the  Belgians. 

"  Thirty  shillings  a  wik!  "  said  James,  acting  with 
fine  histrionic  skill.  "  I  thought  as  you  said  seventy- 
two  pounds  a  month!  " 

"  Oh  no,  you  didn't !  "  she  protested,  firmly.  "  So 
don't  try  to  tease  me.  I  never  joke  about  money. 
Money's  a  very  serious  thing." 

("Her's  a  chip  o'  th'  owd  block,"  he  told  him- 
self, delighted.  When  he  explained  matters  to  him- 
self, and  when  he  grew  angry,  he  always  employed  the 
Five  Towns  dialect  in  its  purest  form.) 

"  You  must  be  same  as  them  hospital  nurses,"  he 
said  aloud.  "  You  do  it  because  ye  like  it  —  for  love 
on  it,  as  they  say." 

"  Like  it!  I  hate  it.  I  hate  any  sort  of  work. 
What  fun  do  you  suppose  there  is  in  teaching  endless 
stupid  children,  and  stuffing  in  class-rooms  all  day,  and 
correcting  exercises  and  preparing  sewing  all  night? 


36     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

Of  course,  they  can't  help  being  stupid.  It's  that 
that's  so  amazing.  You  can't  help  being  kind  to 
them  —  they're  so  stupid." 

"  If  ye  didn't  do  that,  what  should  ye  do?  "  James 
inquired. 

"  I  shouldn't  do  anything  unless  I  was  forced,"  said 
she.  "  I  don't  want  to  do  anything,  except  enjoy  my- 
self —  read,  play  the  piano,  pay  visits,  and  have 
plenty  of  really  nice  clothes.  Why  should  I  want  to 
do  anything?  I  can  tell  you  this  —  if  I  didn't  need 
the  money  I'd  never  go  inside  that  school  again,  or 
any  other !  " 

She  was  heated ! 

"  Dun  ye  mean  to  say,"  he  asked,  with  an  ineffa- 
ble intonation,  "  that  Susan  and  that  there  young 
farmer  have  gone  gadding  off  to  Canada  and  left  you 
all  alone  with  nothing?  " 

"  Of  course  they  haven't,"  said  Helen.  "  Why, 
mother  is  the  most  generous  old  thing  you  can  possi- 
bly imagine.  She's  left  all  her  own  income  to  me." 

"How  much?" 

"  Well,  it  comes  to  rather  over  thirty  shillings  a 
week." 

"  And  can't  a  single  woman  live  on  thirty  shillings 
a  <ivik?  Bless  us!  I  don't  spend  thirty  shillings  a 
wik  myself." 


INVITATION  TO  TEA  37 

Helen  raised  her  chin.  "  A  single  woman  can 
live  on  thirty  shillings  a  week,"  she  said.  "  But 
what  about  her  frocks?  " 

"  Well,  what  about  her  frocks?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  like  frocks.  It  just  happens 
that  I  can't  do  without  frocks.  It's  just  frocks  that 
I  work  for;  I  spend  nearly  all  I  earn  on  them."  And 
her  eyes,  descending,  seemed  to  say :  "  Look  at  the 
present  example." 

"  Seventy  pounds  a  year  on  ye  clothes!  Ye're  not 
serious,  lass?  " 

She  looked  at  him  coldly.  "  I  am  serious,"  she 
said. 

Experienced  as  he  was,  he  had  never  come  across  a 
fact  so  incredible  as  this  fact.  And  the  compulsion 
of  believing  it  occupied  his  forces  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  had  no  force  left  to  be  wise.  He  did  not  ob- 
serve the  icy,  darting  challenge  in  her  eye,  and  he  ig- 
nored the  danger  in  her  voice. 

"  All  as  I  can  say  is  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  o' 
yourself,  lass !  "  he  said,  sharply.  The  reflection  was 
blown  out  of  him  by  the  expansion  of  his  feelings. 
Seventy  pounds  a  year  on  clothes !  .  .  .  He  too 
was  serious. 

Now,  James  Ollerenshaw  was  not  the  first  person 
whom  Helen's  passion  for  clothes  had  driven  into  in- 


38     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

discretions.  Her  mother,  for  example,  had  done 
battle  with  that  passion,  and  had  been  defeated  with 
heavy  loss.  A  head-mistress  and  a  chairman  of  a 
School  Board  (a  pompous  coward)  had  also  suffered 
severely.  And  though  Helen  had  been  the  victor, 
she  had  not  won  without  some  injury  to  her  nerves. 
Her  campaigns  and  conquests  had  left  her,  on  this 
matter,  "  touchy  " —  as  the  word  is  used  in  the  Five 
Towns. 

"  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  if  you  will  not  speak 
to  me  in  that  tone,"  said  she.  "  Because  I  cannot 
permit  it  either  from  you  or  any  other  man.  When 
I  venture  to  criticise  your  private  life  I  shall  expect 
you  to  criticise  mine  —  and  not  before.  I  don't 
want  to  be  rude,  but  I  hope  you  understand,  great- 
stepuncle." 

The  milk  was  within  the  twentieth  of  an  inch  of 
the  brim.  James  Ollerenshaw  blushed  as  red  as 
Helen  herself  had  blushed  at  the  beginning  of  their 
acquaintance.  A  girl,  the  daughter  of  the  chit  Su- 
san, to  address  him  so !  She  had  the  incomparable 
insolence  of  her  mother.  Yes,  thirty  years  ago  Susan 
had  been  just  as  rude  to  him.  But  he  was  thirty 
years  younger  then ;  he  was  not  a  sage  of  sixty  then. 
He  continued  to  blush.  He  was  raging.  Indeed,  it 
would  be  no  exaggeration  to  assert  that  his  health 


INVITATION  TO  TEA  39 

was  momentarily  in  peril.  He  glanced  for  an  instant 
at  Helen,  and  saw  that  her  nostrils  were  twitching. 
Then  he  looked  hurriedly  away,  and  rose.  The  cap- 
tain of  the  bowling  club  excusably  assumed  that  James 
was  at  length  going  to  attack  the  serious  business  of 
the  day. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw !  "  the  captain  called 
out;  and  his  tone  implied,  gently:  "  Don't  you  think 
you've  kept  me  waiting  long  enough?  Women  are 
women;  but  a  bowling-match  is  a  bowling-match." 

James  turned  his  back  on  the  captain,  moved  off, 
and  then  —  how  can  one  explain  it?  He  realised 
that  in  the  last  six  words  of  Helen's  speech  there  had 
been  a  note,  a  hint,  a  mere  nothing,  of  softness,  of  re- 
gret for  pain  caused.  He  realised,  further,  the  great 
universal  natural  law  that  under  any  circumstances  — 
no  matter  what  they  may  be  —  when  any  man  — 
no  matter  who  he  may  be  —  differs  from  any  pretty 
and  well-dressed  woman  —  no  matter  who  she  may 
be  —  he  is  in  the  wrong.  He  saw  that  it  was 
useless  for  serious,  logical,  high-minded  persons  to 
inveigh  against  the  absurdity  of  this  law,  and  to 
call  it  bad  names.  The  law  of  gravity  is  absurd 
and  indefensible  when  you  fall  downstairs;  but  you 
obey  it. 

He  returned  to  Helen,  who  bravely  met  his  eyes. 


40     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  I'm  off  home,"  he  said,  hoarsely.     "  It's  my  tea- 
time." 

"  Good-afternoon,"  she  replied,  with  amiability. 
"  Happen  you'll  come  along  with  me,  like?  " 
The  use  of  that  word  "  like  "  at  the  end  of  an  in- 
terrogative sentence,  in  the  Five  Towns,  is  a  subject 
upon  which  a  book  ought  to  be  written ;  but  not  this 
history.     The  essential  point  to  observe  is  that  Helen 
got  up  from  the  bench  and  said,  with  adorable  sweet- 
ness: 

"  Why,  I  shall  be  charmed  to  come !  " 
("  What  a  perfect  old  darling  he  is!  "  she  said  to 
herself.) 


CHAPTER  V 

A   SALUTATION 

As  they  walked  down  Moorthorne-road  towards  the 
town  they  certainly  made  a  couple  piquant  enough, 
by  reason  of  the  excessive  violence  of  the  contrast 
between  them,  to  amuse  the  eye  of  the  beholder.  A 
young  and  pretty  woman  who  spends  seventy  pounds 
a  year  on  her  ornamentations,  walking  by  the  side  of 
a  little  old  man  (she  had  the  better  of  him  by  an 
inch)  who  had  probably  not  spent  seventy  pounds  on 
clothes  in  sixty  years  —  such  a  spectacle  must  have 
drawn  attention  even  in  the  least  attentive  of  towns. 
And  Bursley  is  far  from  the  least  attentive  of  towns. 
James  and  his  great-stepniece  had  not  got  as  far  as 
the  new  Independent  Chapel  when  it  was  known  in 
St.  Luke's-square,  a  long  way  farther  on,  that  they 
were  together ;  a  tramcar  had  flown  forward  with  the 
interesting  fact.  From  that  moment,  of  course,  the 
news,  which  really  was  great  news,  spread  itself  over 
the  town  with  the  rapidity  of  a  perfume;  no  corner 
could  escape  it.  All  James's  innumerable  tenants 
seemed  to  sniff  it  simultaneously.  And  that  evening 
41 


42     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

in  the  mouth  of  the  entire  town  (I  am  licensing  my- 
self to  a  little  poetical  exaggeration)  there  was  no 
word  but  the  word  "  Jimmy." 

Their  converse,  as  they  descended  into  the  town, 
was  not  effective.  It  was,  indeed,  feeble.  They  had 
fought  a  brief  but  bitter  duel,  and  James  Ollerenshaw 
had  been  severely  wounded.  His  dignity  bled  freely ; 
he  made,  strange  to  say,  scarcely  any  attempt  to  stanch 
the  blood,  which  might  have  continued  to  flow  for  a 
considerable  time  had  not  a  diversion  occurred.  (It 
is  well  known  that  the  dignity  will  only  bleed  while 
you  watch  it.  Avert  your  eyes,  and  it  instantly  dries 
up.)  The  diversion,  apparently  of  a  trifling  charac- 
ter, had,  in  truth,  an  enormous  importance,  though 
the  parties  concerned  did  not  perceive  this  till  later. 
It  consisted  in  the  passing  of  Mrs.  Prockter  and  her 
stepson,  Emanuel  Prockter,  up  Duck  Bank  as  James 
and  Helen  were  passing  down  Duck  Bank. 

Mrs.  Prockter  (who  by  reason  of  the  rare  "  k  "  in 
her  name  regarded  herself  as  the  sole  genuine  in  a 
district  full  of  Proctors)  may  be  described  as  the 
dowager  of  Bursley,  the  custodian  of  its  respectability, 
and  the  summit  of  its  social  ladder.  You  could  not 
climb  higher  than  Mrs.  Prockter.  She  lived  at  Hill- 
port,  and  even  in  that  haughty  suburb  there  was  none 
who  dared  palter  with  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Prock- 


A  SALUTATION  43 

ter.  She  was  stout  and  deliberate.  She  had  waving 
flowers  in  her  bonnet  and  pictures  of  flowers  on  her 
silken  gown,  and  a  grey  mantle.  Much  of  her  figure 
preceded  her  as  she  walked.  Her  stepson  had  a  tenor 
voice  and  a  good  tailor ;  his  age  was  thirty. 

Now,  Mrs.  Prockter  was  simply  nothing  to  James 
Ollerenshaw.  They  knew  each  other  by  sight,  but 
their  orbits  did  not  touch.  James  would  have  gone 
by  Mrs.  Prockter  as  indifferently  as  he  would  have 
gone  by  a  policeman  or  a  lamp-post.  As  for  Eman- 
uel,  James  held  him  in  mild,  benignant  contempt. 
But  when,  as  the  two  pairs  approached  one  another, 
James  perceived  Emanuel  furtively  shifting  his  gold- 
headed  cane  from  his  right  hand  to  his  left,  and  then 
actually  raise  his  hat  to  Helen,  James  swiftly  lost  his 
indifference.  He  also  nearly  lost  his  presence  of 
mind.  He  was  utterly  unaccustomed  to  such  crises. 
Despite  his  wealthy  indifference  to  Mrs.  Prockter, 
despite  his  distinguished  scorn  of  Emanuel,  despite 
the  richness  of  Helen's  attire,  he  was  astounded,  and 
deeply  impressed,  to  learn  that  Helen  had  the  ac- 
quaintance of  people  like  the  Prockters.  Further, 
except  at  grave-sides,  James  Ollerenshaw  had  never 
in  his  life  raised  his  hat.  Hat-raising  formed  no  part 
of  his  code  of  manners.  In  his  soul  he  looked  upon 
hat-raising  as  affected.  He  believed  that  all  people 


44     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

who  raised  hats  did  so  from  a  snobbish  desire  to 
put  on  airs.  Hat-raising  was  rather  like  saying 
"  please,"  only  worse. 

Happily,  his  was  one  of  those  strong,  self-reliant 
natures  that  can,  when  there  is  no  alternative,  face  the 
most  frightful  situations  with  unthumping  heart.  He 
kept  his  presence  of  mind,  and  decided  in  the  fraction 
of  a  second  what  he  must  do.  The  faculty  of  instant 
decision  is  indispensable  to  safety  in  these  swift-arising 
crises. 

He  raised  his  hat,  praying  that  Helen  would  not 
stop  to  speak.  Not  gracefully,  not  with  the  beaute- 
ous curves  of  an  Emanuel  did  he  raise  his  hat  —  but 
he  raised  it.  His  prayer  was  answered. 

"There!"  his  chest  said  to  Helen.  "If  you 
thought  I  didn't  know  how  to  behave  to  your  con- 
ceited acquaintances,  you  were  mistaken." 

And  his  casual,  roving  eye  pretended  that  hat-rais- 
ing was  simply  the  most  ordinary  thing  on  earth. 

Such  was  the  disturbing  incident  which  ended  the 
bleeding  of  his  dignity.  In  order  to  keep  up  the  pre- 
tence that  hat-raising  was  a  normal  function  of  his 
daily  life  he  was  obliged  to  talk  freely;  and  he  did 
talk  freely.  But  neither  he  nor  Helen  said  a  word 
as  to  the  Prockters. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MRS.    BUTT'S   DEPARTURE 

JAMES  OLLERENSHAW'S  house  was  within  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  of  the  top  of  Trafalgar-road,  on  the  way 
from  Bursley  to  Hanbridge.  I  may  not  indicate  the 
exact  house,  but  I  can  scarcely  conceal  that  it  lay  be- 
tween Nos.  1 60  and  180,  on  the  left  as  you  go  up. 
It  was  one  of  the  oldest  houses  in  the  street,  and 
though  bullied  into  insignificance  by  sundry  detached 
and  semi-detached  villas  opposite  —  palaces  occupied 
by  reckless  persons  who  think  nothing  of  paying  sixty 
or  even  sixty-five  pounds  a  year  for  rent  alone  —  it 
kept  a  certain  individuality  and  distinction  because  it 
had  been  conscientiously  built  of  good  brick  before 
English  domestic  architecture  had  lost  trace  of  the 
Georgian  style.  First  you  went  up  two  white  steps 
(white  in  theory),  through  a  little  gate  in  a  wrought- 
iron  railing  painted  the  colour  of  peas  after  they  have 
been  cooked  in  a  bad  restaurant.  You  then  found 
yourself  in  a  little  front  yard,  twelve  feet  in  width 
(the  whole  width  of  the  house)  by  six  feet  in  depth. 
45 


46     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

The  yard  was  paved  with  large  square  Indian-red 
tiles,  except  a  tiny  circle  in  the  midst  bordered  with 
black-currant-coloured  tiles  set  endwise  with  a  scol- 
loped edge.  This  magical  circle  contained  earth,  and 
in  the  centre  of  it  was  a  rhododendron  bush  which, 
having  fallen  into  lazy  habits,  had  forgotten  the  art 
of  flowering.  Its  leaves  were  a  most  pessimistic  ver- 
sion of  the  tint  of  the  railing. 
/  The  fagade  of  the  house  comprised  three  windows 
and  a  door  —  that  is  to  say,  a  window  and  a 
door  on  the  ground  floor  and  two  windows  above. 
The  brickwork  was  assuredly  admirable;  James  had 
it  "  pointed  "  every  few  years.  Over  the  windows 
the  bricks,  of  special  shapes,  were  arranged  as 
in  a  flat  arch,  with  a  keystone  that  jutted  slightly. 
The  panes  of  the  windows  were  numerous  and  small ; 
inside,  on  the  sashes,  lay  long  thin  scarlet  sausages 
of  red  cloth  and  sawdust,  to  keep  out  the  draughts. 
The  door  was  divided  into  eight  small  panels  with 
elaborate  headings,  and  over  it  was  a  delicate  fan- 
light —  one  of  about  a  score  in  Bursley  —  to  remind 
the  observer  of  a  lost  elegance.  Between  the  fan- 
light and  the  upstairs  window  exactly  above  it  was  a 
rusty  iron  plaque,  with  vestiges  in  gilt  of  the  word 
"  Phoenix."  It  had  been  put  there  when  fire  insur- 
ance had  still  the  fancied  charm  of  novelty.  At  the 


MRS.  BUTT'S  DEPARTURE  47 

extremity  of  the  fagade  farthest  from  the  door  a 
spout  came  down  from  the  blue-slate  roof.  This 
spout  began  with  a  bold  curve  from  the  projecting 
horizontal  spout  under  the  eaves,  and  made  another 
curve  at  the  ground  into  a  hollow  earthenware  grid 
with  very  tiny  holes. 

Helen  looked  delicious  in  the  yard,  gazing  pen- 
sively at  the  slothful  rhododendron  while  James  Ol- 
lerenshaw  opened  his  door.  She  was  seen  by  two 
electric  cars-full  of  people,  for  although  James's 
latchkey  was  very  highly  polished  and  the  lock  well 
oiled,  he  never  succeeded  in  opening  his  door  at  the 
first  attempt.  It  was  a  capricious  door.  You  could 
not  be  sure  of  opening  it  any  more  than  Beau  Brum- 
mel  could  be  sure  of  tying  his  cravat.  It  was  a  muse 
that  had  to  be  wooed. 

But  when  it  did  open  you  perceived  that  there  were 
no  half  measures  about  that  door,  for  it  let  you 
straight  into  the  house.  To  open  it  was  like  taking 
down  part  of  the  wall.  No  lobby,  hall,  or  vestibule 
behind  that  door !  One  instant  you  were  in  the  yard, 
the  next  you  were  in  the  middle  of  the  sitting-room, 
and  through  a  doorway  at  the  back  of  the  sitting- 
room  you  could  see  the  kitchen,  and  beyond  that  the 
scullery,  and  beyond  that  a  back  yard  with  a  white- 
washed wall. 


48     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

James  Ollerenshaw  went  in  first,  leaving  Helen  to 
follow.  He  had  learnt  much  in  the  previous  hour, 
but  there  were  still  one  or  two  odd  things  left  for  him 
to  learn. 

"  Ah !  "  he  breathed,  shut  the  door,  and  hung  up 
his  hard  hat  on  the  inner  face  of  it.  "  Sit  ye  down, 
lass." 

So  she  sat  her  down.  It  must  be  said  that  she 
looked  as  if  she  had  made  a  mistake  and  got  on  to 
the  wrong  side  of  Trafalgar-road.  The  sitting-room 
was  a  crowded  and  shabby  little  apartment  (though 
clean).  There  was  a  list  carpet  over  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  which  was  tiled,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
carpet  a  small  square  table  with  flap-sides.  On  this 
table  was  a  full-rigged  ship  on  a  stormy  sea  in  a  glass 
box,  some  resin,  a  large  stone  bottle  of  ink,  a  ready 
reckoner,  Whitaker's  Almanack  (paper  edition),  a 
foot-rule,  and  a  bright  brass  candlestick.  Above  the 
table  there  hung  from  the  ceiling  a  string  with  a  ball 
of  fringed  paper,  designed  for  the  amusement  of  flies. 
At  the  window  was  a  flat  desk,  on  which  were  trans- 
acted the  affairs  of  Mr.  Ollerenshaw.  When  he  sta- 
tioned himself  at  it  in  the  seat  of  custom  and  of  judg- 
ment, defaulting  tenants,  twirling  caps  or  twisting 
aprons,  had  a  fine  view  of  the  left  side  of  his  face. 
He  usually  talked  to  them  while  staring  out  of  the 


MRS.  BUTT'S  DEPARTURE  49 

window.  Before  this  desk  was  a  Windsor  chair. 
There  were  eight  other  Windsor  chairs  in  the  room 
—  Helen  was  sitting  on  one  that  had  not  been  sat 
upon  for  years  and  years  —  a  teeming  but  idle 
population  of  chairs.  A  horse-hair  arm-chair 
seemed  to  be  the  sultan  of  the  seraglio  of  chairs. 
Opposite  the  window  a  modern  sideboard,  which 
might  have  cost  two-nineteen-six  when  new,  com- 
pleted the  tale  of  furniture.  The  general  impression 
was  one  of  fulness;  the  low  ceiling,  and  the  immense 
harvest  of  overblown  blue  roses  which  climbed  lux- 
uriantly up  the  walls,  intensified  this  effect.  The 
mantelpiece  was  crammed  with  brass  ornaments,  and 
there  were  two  complete  sets  of  brass  fire-irons  in  the 
brass  fender.  Above  the  mantelpiece  a  looking-glass, 
in  a  wan  frame  of  bird's-eye  maple,  with  rounded 
corners,  reflected  Helen's  hat. 

Helen  abandoned  the  Windsor  chair  and  tried  the 
arm-chair,  and  then  stood  up. 

"Which  chair  do  you  recommend?"  she  asked, 
nicely. 

"  Bless  ye,  child !  I  never  sit  here,  except  at  th' 
desk.  I  sit  in  the  kitchen." 

A  peculiarity  of  houses  in  the  Five  Towns  is  that 
rooms  are  seldom  called  by  their  right  names.  It  is 
a  point  of  honour,  among  the  self-respecting  and  in- 


50     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

dustrious  classes,  to  prepare  a  room  elaborately  for 
a  certain  purpose,  and  then  not  to  use  it  for  that 
purpose.  Thus  James  Ollerenshaw's  sitting-room, 
though  surely  few  apartments  could  show  more  facil- 
ities than  it  showed  for  sitting,  was  not  used  as  a  sit- 
ting-room, but  as  an  office.  The  kitchen,  though  it 
contained  a  range,  was  not  used  as  a  kitchen,  but  as  a 
sitting-room.  The  scullery,  though  it  had  no  range, 
was  filled  with  a  gas  cooking-stove  and  used  as  a 
kitchen.  And  the  back  yard  was  used  as  a  scullery. 
This  arrangement  never  struck  anybody  as  singular ; 
it  did  not  strike  even  Helen  as  singular.  Her 
mother's  house  had  exhibited  the  same  oddness  until 
she  reorganised  it.  If  James  Ollerenshaw  had  not 
needed  an  office,  his  sitting-room  would  have  lan- 
guished in  desuetude.  The  fact  is  that  the  thrifty 
inhabitants  of  the  Five  Towns  save  a  room  as  they 
save  money.  If  they  have  an  income  of  six  rooms 
they  will  live  on  five,  or  rather  in  five,  and  thereby 
take  pride  to  themselves. 

Somewhat  nervous,  James  feigned  to  glance  at  the 
rent  books  on  the  desk. 

Helen's  eye  swept  the  room.  "  I  suppose  you  have 
a  good  servant?  "  she  said. 

"  I  have  a  woman  as  comes  in,"  said  James.  "  But 
her  isn't  in  th'  house  at  the  moment." 


MRS.  BUTT'S  DEPARTURE  51 

This  latter  statement  was  a  wilful  untruth  on 
James's  part.  He  had  distinctly  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Mrs.  Butt's  figure  as  he  entered. 

"  Well,"  said  Helen,  kindly,  "  it's  quite  nice,  I'm 
sure.  You  must  be  very  comfortable  —  for  a  man. 
But,  of  course,  one  can  see  at  once  that  no  woman 
lives  here." 

"  How?  "  he  demanded,  naively. 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  "  I  don't  know.  But  one 
can." 

"  Dost  mean  to  say  as  it  isn't  clean,  lass?  " 

"  The  brasses  are  very  clean,"  said  Helen. 

Such  astonishing  virtuosity  in  the  art  of  innuendo 
is  the  privilege  of  one  sex  only. 

"  Come  into  th'  kitchen,  lass,'T  said  James,  after  he 
had  smiled  into  a  corner  of  the  room,  "  and  take  off 
them  gloves  and  things." 

"  But,  great-stepuncle,  I  can't  stay." 

"  You'll  stop  for  tea,"  said  he,  firmly,  "  or  my 
name  isn't  James  Ollerenshaw." 

He  preceded  her  into  the  kitchen.  The  door  be- 
tween the  kitchen  and  the  scullery  was  half-closed;  in 
the  aperture  he  again  had  a  momentary,  but  distinct, 
glimpse  of  the  eye  of  Mrs.  Butt. 

"  I  do  like  this  room,"  said  Helen,  enthusias- 
tically. 


52     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  Uninterrupted  view  o'  th'  back  yard,"  said  Oller- 
enshaw.  "  Sit  ye  down,  lass." 

He  indicated  an  article  of  furniture  which  stood  in 
front  of  the  range,  at  a  distance  of  perhaps  six  feet 
from  it,  cutting  the  room  in  half.  This  contrivance 
may  be  called  a  sofa,  or  it  may  be  called  a  couch ;  but 
it  can  only  be  properly  described  by  the  Midland 
word  for  it  —  squab.  No  other  term  is  sufficiently 
expressive.  Its  seat  —  five  feet  by  two  —  was  very 
broad  and  very  low,  and  it  had  a  steep,  high  back  and 
sides.  All  its  angles  were  right  angles.  It  was 
everywhere  comfortably  padded;  it  yielded  every- 
where to  firm  pressure;  and  it  was  covered  with  a 
grey  and  green  striped  stuff.  You  could  not  sit  on 
that  squab  and  be  in  a  draught;  yet  behind  it,  lest  the 
impossible  should  arrive,  was  a  heavy  curtain,  hung 
on  an  iron  rod  which  crossed  the  room  from  wall  to 
wall.  Not  much  imagination  was  needed  to  realise 
the  joy  and  ecstasy  of  losing  yourself  on  that  squab 
on  a  winter  afternoon,  with  the  range  fire  roaring  in 
your  face,  and  the  curtain  drawn  abaft. 

Helen  assumed  the  mathematical  centre  of  the 
squab,  and  began  to  arrange  her  skirts  in  cascading 
folds;  she  had  posted  her  parasol  in  a  corner  of  it, 
as  though  the  squab  had  been  a  railway  carriage, 
which,  indeed,  it  did  somewhat  resemble. 


MRS.  BUTT'S  DEPARTURE  53 

"  By  the  way,  lass,  what's  that  as  swishes?  "  James 
demanded. 

"What's  what?" 

"  What's  that  as  swishes?  " 

She  looked  puzzled  for  an  instant,  then  laughed  — 
a  frank,  gay  laugh,  light  and  bright  as  aluminium, 
such  as  the  kitchen  had  never  before  heard. 

"  Oh!  "  she  said.  "  It's  my  new  silk  petticoat,  I 
suppose.  You  mean  that?  "  She  brusquely  moved 
her  limbs,  reproducing  the  unique  and  delicious  rustle 
of  concealed  silk. 

"  Ay!  "  ejaculated  the  old  man,  "  I  mean  that." 

"  Yes.  It's  my  silk  petticoat.  Do  you  like 
it?" 

"  I  havena'  seen  it,  lass." 

She  bent  down,  and  lifted  the  hem  of  her  dress  just 
two  inches  —  the  discreetest,  the  modestest  gesture. 
He  had  a  transient  vision  of  something  fair  —  it  was 
gone  again. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  dislike  it,"  said  he. 

He  was  standing  facing  her,  his  back  to  the  range, 
and  his  head  on  a  level  with  the  high  narrow  mantel- 
piece, upon  which  glittered  a  row  of  small  tin  canis- 
ters. Suddenly  he  turned  to  the  corner  to  the  right 
of  the  range,  where,  next  to  an  oak  cupboard,  a  vel- 
vet Turkish  smoking-cap  depended  from  a  nail.  He 


f54     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

put  on  the  cap,  of  which  the  long  tassel  curved  down 
to  his  ear.  Then  he  faced  her  again,  putting  his 
hands  behind  him,  and  raising  himself  at  intervals  on 
his  small,  well-polished  toes.  She  lifted  her  two 
hands  simultaneously  to  her  head,  and  began  to  draw 
pins  from  her  hat,  which  pins  she  placed  one  after 
another  between  her  lips.  Then  she  lowered  the  hat 
carefully  from  her  head,  and  transfixed  it  anew  with 
the  pins. 

"  Will  you  mind  hanging  it  on  that  nail?  "  she  re- 
quested. 

/  He  took  it,  as  though  it  had  been  of  glass,  and 
hung  it  on  the  nail. 

Without  her  hat  she  looked  as  if  she  lived  there,  a 
jewel  in  a  pipe-case.  She  appeared  to  be  just  as 
much  at  home  as  he  was.  And  they  were  so  at  home 
together  that  there  was  no  further  necessity  to  strain 
after  a  continuous  conversation.  With  a  vague 
smile  she  gazed  round  and  about,  at  the  warm, 
cracked,  smooth  red  tiles  of  the  floor;  at  the  painted 
green  walls,  at  a  Windsor  chair  near  the  cupboard  — 
a  solitary  chair  that  had  evidently  been  misunder- 
stood by  the  large  family  of  relatives  in  the  other 
room  and  sent  into  exile ;  at  the  pair  of  bellows  that 
hung  on  the  wall  above  the  chair,  and  the  rich  gaudi- 
ness  of  the  grocer's  almanac  above  the  bellows;  at 


MRS.  BUTT'S  DEPARTURE  55, 

the  tea-table,  with  its  coarse  grey  cloth  and  thick 
crockery  spread  beneath  the  window. 

"  So  you  have  all  your  meals  here?  "  she  ventured. 

"  Ay,'''  he  said.  "  I  have  what  I  call  my  meals 
here." 

"  Why,"  she  cried,  "  don't  you  enjoy  them?  " 

"  I  eat  'em,"  he  said. 

"  What  time  do  you  have  tea?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Four  o'clock,"  said  he.      "  Sharp  !  " 

"  But  it's  a  quarter  to,  now !  "  she  exclaimed,  point- 
ing to  a  clock  with  weights  at  the  end  of  brass  chains 
and  a  long  pendulum.  "  And  didn't  you  say  your 
servant  was  out?  " 

"  Ay,"  he  mysteriously  lied.  "  Her's  out.  But 
her'll  come  back.  Happen  her's  gone  to  get  a  bit  o* 
fish  or  something." 

"  Fish!     Do  you  always  have  fish  for  tea?  " 

"  I  have  what  I'm  given,"  he  replied.  "  I  fancy  a 
snack  for  my  tea.  Something  tasty,  ye  know." 

"  Why,"  she  said,  "  you're  just  like  me.  I  adore 
tea.  I'd  sooner  have  tea  than  any  other  meal  of  the 
day.  But  I  never  yet  knew  a  servant  who  could 
get  something  tasty  every  day.  Of  course,  it's  quite 
easy  if  you  know  how  to  do  it;  but  servants  don't  — 
that  is  to  say,  as  a  rule  —  but  I  expect  you've  got  a 
very  good  one." 


56     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  So-so!  "  James  murmured. 

"  The  trouble  with  servants  is  that  they  always 
think  that  if  you  like  a  thing  one  day  you'll  like  the 
same  thing  every  day  for  the  next  three  years." 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  drily.  "  I  used  to  like  a  kidney, 
but  it's  more  than  three  years  ago."  He  stuck  his 
lips  out,  and  raised  himself  higher  than  ever  on  his 
toes. 

He  did  not  laugh.  But  she  laughed,  almost  bois- 
terously. 

"  I  can't  help  telling  you,"  she  said,  "  you're  per- 
fectly lovely,  great-stepuncle.  Are  we  both  going  to 
drink  out  of  the  same  cup?"  In  such  manner  did 
the  current  of  her  talk  gyrate  and  turn  corners. 

He  approached  the  cupboard. 

"  No,  no !  "  She  sprang  up.  "  Let  me.  I'll  do 
that,  as  the  servant  is  so  long." 

And  she  opened  the  cupboard.  Among  a  miscel- 
lany of  crocks  therein  was  a  blue-and-white  cup  and 
saucer,  and  a  plate  to  match  underneath  it,  that 
seemed  out  of  place  there.  She  lifted  down  the 
pile. 

"  Steady  on !  "  he  counselled  her.  "  .Why  dun  you 
choose  that?  " 

"  Because  I  like  it,"  she  replied,  simply. 

He  was  silenced.     "  That's  a  bit  o'  real  Spode," 


MRS.  BUTT'S  DEPARTURE  57 

he  said,  as  she  put  it  on  the  table  and  dusted  the  sev- 
eral pieces  with  a  corner  of  the  tablecloth. 

"  It  won't  be  in  any  danger,"  she  retorted,  "  until 
it  comes  to  be  washed  up.  So  I'll  stop  afterwards 
and  wash  it  up  myself.  There  !  " 

"Now  you  can't  find  the  teaspoons,  miss!"  he 
challenged  her. 

"  I  think  I  can,"  she  said. 

She  raised  the  tablecloth  at  the  end,  discovered  the 
knob  of  the  drawer,  and  opened  it.  And,  surely, 
there  were  teaspoons. 

"  Can't  I  just  take  a  peep  into  the  scullery?  "  she 
begged,  with  a  bewitching  supplication.  "  I  won't 
stop.  It's  nearly  time  your  servant  was  back,  if  she's 
always  so  dreadfully  prompt  as  you  say.  I  won't 
touch  anything.  Servants  are  so  silly.  They  always 
think  one  wants  to  interfere  with  them." 

Without  waiting  for  James's  permission,  she  burst 
youthfully  into  the  scullery. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  there's  some  one  here !  " 

Of  course  there  was.     There  was  Mrs.  Butt. 

Although  the  part  played  by  Mrs.  Butt  in  the 
drama  was  vehement  and  momentous,  it  was  never- 
theless so  brief  that  a  description  of  Mrs.  Butt  is 
hardly  called  for.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  she  had  so 
much  waist  as  to  have  no  waist,  and  that  she  pos- 


58     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

sessed  both  a  beard  and  a  moustache.  This  curt 
catalogue  of  her  charms  is  unfair  to  her;  but  Mrs. 
Butt  was  ever  the  victim  of  unfairness. 

James  Ollerenshaw  looked  audaciously  in  at  the 
door.  "  It's  Mrs.  Butt,"  said  he.  "  Us  thought  as 
ye  were  out." 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Butt,"  Helen  began,  with 
candid  pleasantness. 
A  pause. 

"  Good-afternoon,  miss." 

"And  what  have  you  got  for  uncle's  tea  to-day? 
Something  tasty?  " 

"  I've  got  this,"  said  Mrs.  Butt,  with  candid  un- 
pleasantness.    And  she  pointed  to  an  oblate  spheroid, 
the  colour  of  brick,  but  smoother,  which  lay  on'  a 
plate  near  the  gas-stove.     It  was  a  kidney. 
"H'm!"—  from  James. 

"  It's  not  cooked  yet,  I  see,"  Helen  observed. 
"And—" 

The  clock  finished  her  remark. 
"  No,  miss,  it's  not  cooked,"  said  Mrs.  Butt.  "  To 
tell  ye  the  honest  truth,  miss,  I've  been  learning, 
'stead  o'  cooking  this  'ere  kidney."  She  picked  up 
the  kidney  in  her  pudding-like  hand  and  gazed  at  it. 
"  I'm  glad  the  brasses  is  clean,  miss,  at  any  rate, 
though  the  house  does  look  as  though  there  was  no 


MRS.  BUTT'S  DEPARTURE  59 

woman  about  the  place,  and  servants  are  silly.  I'm 
thankful  to  Heaven  as  the  brasses  is  clean.  Come 
into  my  scullery,  and  welcome." 

She  ceased,  still  holding  up  the  kidney. 

"  H'm !  "—  from  Uncle  James. 

This  repeated  remark  of  his  seemed  to  rouse  the 
fury  in  her.  "  You  may  '  h'm,'  Mester  Olleren- 
shaw,"  she  glared  at  him.  "  You  may  '  h'm  '  as 
much  as  yo'n  a  mind."  Then  to  Helen :  "  Come  in, 
miss ;  come  in.  Don't  be  afraid  of  servants."  And 
finally,  with  a  striking  instinct  for  theatrical  effect: 
"  But  I  go  out!" 

She  flung  the  innocent  and  yielding  kidney  to  the 
floor,  snatched  up  a  bonnet,  cast  off  her  apron,  and 
departed. 

"There!"  said  James  Ollerenshaw.  "You've 
done  it!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    NEW   COOK 

TEN  minutes  later  Mr.  James  Ollerenshaw  stood 
alone  in  his  kitchen-sitting-room.  And  he  gazed  at 
the  door  between  the  kitchen-sitting-room  and  the 
scullery.  This  door  was  shut;  that  is  to  say,  it  was 
nearly  shut.  He  had  been  turned  out  of  his  scullery ; 
not  with  violence  —  or,  rather,  with  a  sort  of  sweet 
violence  that  he  liked,  and  that  had  never  before  been 
administered  to  him  by  any  human  soul.  An  after- 
noon highly  adventurous  —  an  afternoon  on  which 
he  had  permitted  himself  to  be  insulted,  with  worse 
than  impunity  to  the  insulter,  by  the  childish  daugh- 
ter of  that  chit  Susan  —  an  afternoon  on  which  he 
had  raised  his  hat  to  Mrs.  Prockter  —  a  Saturday 
afternoon  on  which  he  had  foregone,  on  account  of 
a  woman,  his  customary  match  at  bowls  —  this  after- 
noon was  drawing  to  a  close  in  a  manner  which  piled 
thrilling  event  on  thrilling  event. 

Mrs.  Butt  had  departed.     For  unnumbered  years 
Mrs.  Butt  had  miscooked  his  meals.     The  little  house 
was  almost  inconceivable  without  Mrs.  Butt.     And 
60 


THE  NEW  COOK  61 

Mrs.  Butt  had  departed.  Already  he  missed  her  as 
one  misses  an  ancient  and  supersensitive  corn  —  if 
the  simile  may  be  permitted  to  one;  it  is  a  simile 
not  quite  nice,  but,  then,  Mrs.  Butt  was  not  quite 
nice  either.  The  fault  was  not  hers;  she  was 
born  so. 

The  dropping  of  the  kidney  with  a  plop,  by  Mrs. 
Butt,  on  the  hard,  unsympathetic  floor  of  the  scul- 
lery, had  constituted  an  extremely  dramatic  moment 
in  three  lives.  Certainly  Mrs.  Butt  possessed  a  won- 
drous instinct  for  theatrical  effect.  Helen,  on  the 
contrary,  seemed  to  possess  none.  She  had  advanced 
nonchalantly  towards  the  kidney,  and  delicately  picked 
it  up  between  finger  and  thumb,  and  turned  it  over, 
and  then  put  it  on  a  plate. 

"  That's  a  veal  kidney,"  she  had  observed. 

"  Art  sure  it  isn't  a  sheep's  kidney,  lass?  "  James 
had  asked,  carefully  imitating  Helen's  nonchalance. 

"  Yes,"  she  had  said.  "  I  gather  you  are  not  pas- 
sionately fond  of  kidneys,  great-stepuncle  ?  "  she  had 
asked. 

"  I  was  once.     What  art  going  to  do,  lass?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  get  our  tea,"  she  had  said. 

At  the  words,  our  tea,  the  antique  James  Olleren- 
shaw,  who  had  never  thought  to  have  such  a  sensa- 
tion again,  was  most  distinctly  conscious  of  an  agree- 


62     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

able,  somewhat  disturbing  sensation  of  being  tickled 
in  the  small  of  his  back. 

11  Well,"  he  had  asked  her,  "  what  can  I  do?  " 

"  You  can  go  out,"  she  had  replied.  "  Wouldn't 
it  be  a  good  thing  for  you  to  go  out  for  a  walk?  Tea 
will  be  ready  at  half-past  four." 

"  I  go  for  no  walk,"  he  said,  positively.     .     .     . 

"  Yes,  that's  all  right,"  she  had  murmured,  but  not 
in  response  to  his  flat  refusal  to  obey  her.  She  had 
been  opening  the  double  cupboard  and  the  five  draw- 
ers which  constituted  the  receptacles  of  the  scullery- 
larder;  she  had  been  spying  out  the  riches  and  the 
poverty  of  the  establishment.  Then  she  had  turned 
to  him,  and,  instead  of  engaging  him  in  battle,  she 
had  just  smiled  at  him,  and  said:  "  Very  well.  As 
you  wish.  But  do  go  into  the  front  room,  at  any 
rate." 

And  there  he  was  in  the  middle  room,  the  kitchen, 
listening  to  her  movements  behind  the  door.  He 
heard  the  running  of  water,  and  then  the  mild  ex- 
plosion of  lighting  the  second  ring  of  the  gas-stove; 
the  first  had  been  lighted  by  Mrs.  Butt.  Then  he 
heard  nothing  whatever  for  years,  and  when  he 
looked  at  the  clock  it  was  fourteen  minutes  past  four. 
In  the  act  of  looking  at  the  clock,  his  eye  had  to 
traverse  the  region  of  the  sofa.  On  the  sofa  were 


THE  NEW  COOK  63 

one  parasol  and  two  gloves.  Astonishing,  singular, 
disconcerting,  how  those  articles  —  which,  after  all, 
bore  no  kind  of  resemblance  to  any  style  of  furniture 
or  hangings  —  seemed,  nevertheless,  to  refurnish  the 
room,  to  give  the  room  an  air  of  being  thickly  inhab- 
ited which  it  never  had  before ! 

Then  she  burst  into  the  kitchen  unexpectedly,  with 
a  swish  of  silk  that  was  like  the  retreat  of  waves  down 
the  shingle  of  some  Atlantic  shore. 

"  My  dear  uncle,"  she  protested,  "  please  do  make 
yourself  scarce.  You  are  in  my  way,  and  I'm  very 
busy."  <- 

She  went  to  the  cupboard  and  snatched  at  some 
plates,  two  of  which  she  dropped  on  the  table,  and 
three  of  which  she  took  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Have  ye  got  all  as  ye  want?  "  he  questioned  her 
politely,  anxious  to  be  of  assistance. 

"  Everything !  "  she  answered,  positively,  and  with 
just  the  least  hint  of  an  intention  to  crush  him. 

"Have  ye  indeed!" 

He  did  not  utter  this  exclamation  aloud ;  but  with 
it  he  applied  balm  to  his  secret  breast.  For  he  still 
remembered,  being  an  old  man,  her  crushing  him  in 
the  park,  and  the  peril  of  another  crushing  roused  the 
male  in  him.  And  it  was  with  a  sardonic  and  cruel 
satisfaction  that  he  applied  such  balm  to  his  secret 


64     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

breast.  The  truth  was,  he  knew  that  she  had  not  got 
all  she  wanted.  He  knew  that,  despite  her  extraor- 
dinary capableness  (of  which  she  was  rather  vain), 
despite  her  ability  to  calculate  mentally  the  interest 
on  eighty-nine  pounds  for  six  months  at  four-and-a- 
half  per  cent.,  she  could  not  possibly  prepare  the  tea 
without  coming  to  him  and  confessing  to  him  that 
she  had  been  mistaken,  and  that  she  had  not  got 
everything  she  wanted.  She  would  be  compelled  to 
humble  herself  before  him  —  were  it  ever  so  little. 
He  was  a  hard  old  man,  and  the  prospect  of  this 
humbling  gave  him  pleasure  (I  regret  to  say). 

You  cannot  have  tea  without  tea-leaves;  and  James 
Ollerenshaw  kept  the  tea-leaves  in  a  tea-caddy,  locked, 
in  his  front  room.  He  had  an  extravagant  taste  in 
tea.  He  fancied  China  tea;  and  he  fancied  China 
tea  that  cost  five  shillings  a  pound.  He  was  the  last 
person  to  leave  China  tea  at  five  shillings  a  pound  to 
the  economic  prudence  of  a  Mrs.  Butt.  Every  day 
Mrs.  Butt  brought  to  him  the  teapot  (warmed)  and 
a  teaspoon,  and  he  unlocked  the  tea-caddy,  dispensed 
the  right  quantity  of  tea,  and  relocked  the  tea-caddy. 

There  was  no  other  tea  in  the  house.  So  with  a 
merry  heart  the  callous  fellow  (shamefully  delighting 
in  the  imminent  downfall  of  a  fellow-creature  —  and 
that  a  woman!)  went  into  the  front  room  as  he  had 


THE  NEW  COOK  65 

been  bidden.  On  one  of  the  family  of  chairs,  in  a 
corner,  was  a  black  octagonal  case.  He  opened  this 
case,  which  was  not  locked,  and  drew  from  it  a  con- 
certina, all  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl.  Then  he 
went  to  the  desk,  and  from  under  a  pile  of  rent  books 
he  extracted  several  pieces  of  music,  and  selected  one. 
This  selected  piece  he  reared  up  on  the  mantelpiece 
against  two  brass  candlesticks.  It  was  obvious,  from 
the  certainty  and  ease  of  his  movements,  that  he  had 
the  habit  of  lodging  pieces  of  music  against  those 
two  brass  candlesticks.  The  music  bore  the  illustri- 
ous name  of  George  Frederick  Handel. 

Then  he  put  on  a  pair  of  spectacles  which  were 
lying  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  balanced  them  on  the 
end  of  his  nose.  Finally  he  adjusted  his  little  hands 
to  the  straps  of  the  concertina.  You  might  imagine 
that  he  would  instantly  dissolve  into  melody.  Not 
at  all.  He  glanced  at  the  page  of  music  first  through 
his  spectacles,  and  then,  bending  forward  his  head, 
over  his  spectacles.  Then  he  put  down  the  concertina, 
gingerly,  on  a  chair,  and  moved  the  music  half-an- 
inch  (perhaps  five-eighths)  to  the  left.  He  resumed 
the  concertina,  and  was  on  the  very  point  of  song, 
when  he  put  down  the  concertina  for  the  second  time, 
and  moved  the  tassel  of  his  Turkish  cap  from  the 
neighbourhood  of  his  left  ear  to  the  neighbourhood 


66     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

of  his  right  ear.  Then,  with  a  cough,  he  resumed 
the  concertina  once  more,  and  embarked  upon  the  in- 
terpretation of  Handel. 

It  was  the  Hallelujah  Chorus. 

Any  surprise  which  the  musical  reader  may  feel 
on  hearing  that  James  Ollerenshaw  was  equal  to  per- 
forming the  Hallelujah  Chorus  on  a  concertina  (even 
one  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl)  argues  on  the  part 
of  that  reader  an  imperfect  acquaintance  with  the 
Five  Towns.  In  the  Five  Towns  there  are  (among 
piano  scorners)  two  musical  instruments,  the  concer- 
tina and  the  cornet.  And  the  Five  Towns  would  like 
to  see  the  composer  clever  enough  to  compose  a  piece 
of  music  that  cannot  be  arranged  for  either  of  these 
instruments.  It  is  conceivable  that  Beethoven  im- 
agined, when  he  wrote  the  last  movement  of  the  C 
Minor  Symphony,  that  he  had  produced  a  work 
which  it  would  be  impossible  to  arrange  for  cornet 
solo.  But  if  he  did  he  imagined  a  vain  thing.  In 
the  Five  Towns,  where  the  taste  for  classical  music 
is  highly  developed,  the  C  Minor  Symphony  on  a 
single  cornet  is  as  common  as  "  Robin  Adair  "  on  a 
full  brass  band. 

James  Ollerenshaw  played  the  Hallelujah  Chorus 
with  much  feeling  and  expression.  He  understood 
the  Hallelujah  Chorus  to  its  profoundest  depths; 


THE  NEW  COOK  67 

which  was  not  surprising  in  view  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  playing  it  regularly  since  before  Helen  was 
born.  (The  unfading  charm  of  classical  music  is 
that  you  never  tire  of  it.) 

Nevertheless,  the  grandeur  of  his  interpretation 
of  the  Hallelujah  Chorus  appeared  to  produce  no  ef- 
fect whatever  in  the  scullery;  neither  alarm  nor 
ecstasy!  And  presently,  in  the  midst  of  a  brief 
pianissimo  passage,  James's  sensitive  ear  caught  the 
distant  sound  of  chopping,  which  quite  marred  the 
soft  tenderness  at  which  he  had  been  aiming.  He 
stopped  abruptly.  The  sound  of  chopping  intrigued 
his  curiosity.  What  could  she  be  chopping?  He 
advanced  cautiously  to  the  doorway;  he  had  left  the 
door  open.  The  other  door  —  between  the  kitchen 
and  the  scullery  —  which  had  previously  been  closed, 
was  now  open,  so  that  he  could  see  from  the  front 
room  into  the  scullery.  His  eager,  inquisitive  glance 
noted  a  plate  of  beautiful  bread  and  butter  on  the 
tea-table  in  the  kitchen. 

She  was  chopping  the  kidney.  Utterly  absorbed 
in  her  task,  she  had  no  suspicion  that  she  was  being 
overlooked.  After  the  chopping  of  the  kidney, 
James  witnessed  a  series  of  operations  the  key  to 
whose  significance  he  could  not  find. 

She  put  a  flat  pan  over  the  gas,  and  then  took  it  off 


68     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

again.  Then  she  picked  up  an  egg,  broke  it  into  a 
coffee-cup,  and  instantly  poured  it  out  of  the  coffee- 
cup  into  a  basin.  She  did  the  same  to  another  egg, 
and  yet  another.  Four  eggs!  The  entire  house- 
hold stock  of  eggs!  It  was  terrible.  Four  eggs 
and  a  kidney  among  two  people !  He  could  not  di- 
vine what  she  was  at. 

Then  she  got  some  butter  on  the  end  of  a  knife 
and  dropped  it  into  the  saucepan,  and  put  the  sauce- 
pan over  the  gas ;  and  then  poured  the  plateful  of  kid- 
ney-shreds into  the  saucepan.  Then  she  began  furi- 
ously to  beat  the  four  eggs  with  a  fork,  glancing  into 
the  saucepan  frequently,  and  coaxing  it  with  little 
touches.  Then  the  kidney-shreds  raised  a  sound  of 
frizzling,  and  bang  into  the  saucepan  went  the  con- 
tents of  the  basin.  All  the  time  she  had  held  her 
hands  and  her  implements  and  utensils  away  from 
her  as  much  as  possible,  doubtless  out  of  considera- 
tion for  her  frock;  not  an  inch  of  apron  was  she 
wearing.  Now  she  leant  over  the  gas-stove,  fork  in 
hand,  and  made  baffling  motions  inside  the  saucepan 
with  the  fork ;  and  while  doing  so  she  stretched  forth 
her  left  hand,  obtained  some  salt,  and  sprinkled  the 
saucepan  therewith.  The  business  seemed  to  be  ex- 
quisitely delicate  and  breathless.  Her  face  was 
sternly  set,  as  though  the  fate  of  continents  depended 


THE  NEW  COOK  60 

on  her  nerve  and  audacity  in  this  tremendous  crisis. 
But  what  she  was  doing  to  the  interior  of  the  sauce- 
pan James  Ollerenshaw  could  not  comprehend.  She 
stroked  it  with  a  long  gesture;  she  tickled  it,  she 
stroked  it  in  a  different  direction;  she  lifted  it  and 
folded  it  on  itself. 

Anyhow,  he  knew  it  was  not  scrambled  eggs;  be- 
cause you  have  to  stir  scrambled  eggs  without  ceas- 
ing. 

Then  she  stopped  and  stood  still,  regarding  the 
saucepan. 

"  You've  watched  me  quite  long  enough,"  she  said, 
without  moving  her  head.  She  must  have  known 
all  the  time  that  he  was  there. 

So  he  shuffled  away,  and  glanced  out  of  the  window 
at  the  stir  and  traffic  of  Trafalgar-road. 

"  Tea's  ready,"  she  said. 

He  went  into  the  kitchen,  smiling,  enchanted,  but 
disturbed.  She  had  not  come  to  him  and  confessed 
that  she  could  not  make  tea  without  tea-leaves.  Yet 
there  was  the  teapot  steaming  and  puffing  on  the 
table! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OMELETTE 

THE  mystery  lay  on  a  plate  in  the  middle  of  the 
table.  In  colour  it  resembled  scrambled  eggs,  ex- 
cept that  it  was  tinted  a  more  brownish,  or  coppery, 
gold  —  rather  like  a  first-class  Yorkshire  pudding. 
He  suspected  for  an  instant  that  it  might  be  a  York- 
shire pudding  according  to  the  new-fangled  recipe  of 
Board  Schools.  But  four  eggs!  No!  He  was 
sure  that  so  small  a  quantity  of  Yorkshire  pudding 
could  not  possibly  have  required  four  eggs. 
*  He  picked  up  the  teapot,  after  his  manner,  and  was 
in  the  act  of  pouring,  when  she  struck  him  into  im- 
mobility with  a  loud  cry : 

"Milk  first  I" 

He  understood  that  she  had  a  caprice  for  pouring 
the  tea  on  the  top  of  the  milk  unstead  of  the  milk  on 
the  top  of  the  tea. 

"What  difference  does  it  make?"  he  demanded, 
defiantly. 

"  What!  "  she  cried  again.     "  You  think  yourself 
70 


OMELETTE  71 

a  great  authority  on  China  tea,  and  yet  you  don't 
know  that  milk  ought  to  be  poured  in  first!  Why, 
it  makes  quite  a  different  taste !  " 

How  in  the  name  of  Confucius  did  she  know  that 
he  thought  himself  a  great  authority  on  China  tea  ? 

"  Here !  "  she  said.  "  If  you  don't  mind,  I'll  pour 
out  the  tea.  Thank  you.  Help  yourself  to  this." 
She  pointed  to  the  mystery.  "  It  must  be  eaten  while 
it's  hot,  or  it's  worse  than  useless." 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked,  with  false  calm. 

"  It's  a  kidney  omelette,"  she  replied. 

"  Omelette !  "  he  repeated,  rather  at  a  loss.  He 
had  never  tasted  an  omelette;  he  had  never  seen  an 
omelette.  Omelettes  form  no  part  of  the  domestic 
cuisine  of  England.  "  Omelette !  "  he  repeated. 
How  was  he  familiar  with  the  word  —  the  word 
which  conveyed  nothing  to  his  mind?  Then  he  re- 
membered: "You  can't  make  an  omelette  without 
breaking  eggs."  Of  course  she  had  broken  eggs. 
She  had  broken  four  eggs  —  she  had  broken  the  en- 
tire household  stock  of  eggs.  And  he  had  employed 
that  proverb  scores,  hundreds  of  times !  It  was  one 
of  half-a-dozen  favourite  proverbs  which  he  flung 
at  the  less  sagacious  and  prudent  of  his  tenants. 
And  yet  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  wonder  what 
an  omelette  was  I  Now  he  knew.  At  any  rate,  he 


(72     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

knew  what  it  looked  like ;  and  he  was  shortly  to  know 
what  it  tasted  like. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Cut  it  with  the  knife.  Don't 
be  frightened  of  it.  You'll  eat  it;  it  won't  eat  you. 
And  please  give  me  very  little.  I  ate  a  quarter  of  a 
pound  of  chocolates  after  dinner." 

He  conveyed  one-third  of  the  confection  to  his 
plate,  and  about  a  sixth  to  hers. 

'And  he  tasted  —  just  a  morsel,  with  a  dash  of 
kidney  in  the  centre  of  it,  on  the  end  of  his  fork. 
He  was  not  aware  of  the  fact,  but  that  was  the 
decisive  moment  of  his  life  —  sixty  though  he  was ! 

Had  she  really  made  this  marvel,  this  dream,  this 
idyll,  this  indescribable  bliss,  out  of  four  common 
fresh  eggs  and  a  veal  kidney  that  Mrs.  Butt  had 
dropped  on  the  floor?  He  had  come  to  loathe  kid- 
ney. He  had  almost  come  to  swearing  that  no  mani- 
festation or  incarnation  of  kidney  should  ever  again 
pass  between  his  excellent  teeth.  And  now  he  was 
ravished,  rapt  away  on  the  wings  of  paradisaical 
ecstasy  by  a  something  that  consisted  of  kidney  and 
a  few  eggs.  This  omelette  had  all  the  finer  and 
nobler  qualities  of  Yorkshire  pudding  and  scrambled 
eggs  combined,  together  with  others  beyond  the  ken 
of  his  greedy  fancy.  Yes,  he  was  a  greedy  man. 
He  knew  he  was  greedy.  He  was  a  greedy  man 


OMELETTE  73 

whose  evil  passion  had  providentially  been  kept  in 
check  for  over  a  quarter  of  a  century  by  the  gross 
unskilfulness,  the  appalling  monotony,  of  a  Mrs. 
Butt.  Could  it  be  that  there  existed  women,  light  and 
light-handed  creatures,  creatures  of  originality  and  re- 
source, who  were  capable  of  producing  prodigies 
like  this  kidney  omelette  on  the  spur  of  the  moment? 
Evidently!  Helen  existed.  And  the  whole  ome- 
lette, from  the  melting  of  the  butter  to  the  final 
steady  glance  into  the  saucepan,  had  not  occupied 
her  more  than  six  minutes  —  at  most.  She  had 
tossed  it  off  as  he  might  have  tossed  off  a  receipt  for 
a  week's  rent.  And  the  exquisite  thought  in  his 
mind,  the  thought  of  penetrating  sweetness,  was  that 
whence  this  delicacy  had  come,  other  and  even  rarer 
delicacies  might  have  come.  All  his  past  life  seemed 
to  him  to  be  a  miserable  waste  of  gloomy  and  joyless 
years. 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  she  inquired. 

He  paused,  as  though  reflecting  whether  he  liked 
it  or  not.  "  Ay,"  he  said,  judicially,  "  it's  none  so 
bad.  I  could  do  a  bit  more  o'  that." 

"  Well,"  she  urged  him,  "  do  help  yourself.  Take 
it  all.  I  shan't  eat  any  more." 

"  Sure?  "  he  said,  trembling  lest  she  might  change 
her  mind. 


74     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

Then  he  ate  the  remaining  half  of  the  omelette, 
making  five-sixths  in  all.  He  glanced  at  her  sur- 
reptitiously, in  her  fine  dress,  on  which  was  not  a 
single  splash  or  stain.  He  might  have  known  that 
so  extraordinary  and  exotic  a  female  person  would 
not  concoct  anything  so  trite  as  a  Yorkshire  pudding 
or  scrambled  eggs. 

Not  till  the  omelette  was  an  affair  of  the  past 
(so  far  as  his  plate  was  concerned)  did  he  begin  to 
attend  to  his  tea  —  his  tea  which  sustained  a  mystery 
as  curious  as,  and  decidedly  more  sinister  than,  the 
mystery  of  the  omelette. 

He  stared  into  the  cup;  then,  to  use  the  Five 
Towns  phrase,  he  supped  it  up. 
1  There  could  be  no  doubt;  it  was  his  special  China 
tea.  It  had  a  peculiar  flavour  (owing,  perhaps,  to 
the  precedence  given  to  milk),  but  it  was  incontesta- 
bly  his  guarded  and  locked  tea.  How  had  she  got 
it? 

"  Where  didst  find  this  tea,  lass?  "  he  asked. 

"  In  the  little  corner  cupboard  in  the  scullery,"  she 
said.  "  I'd  no  idea  that  people  drank  such  good 
China  in  Bursley." 

"  Ah !  "  he  observed,  concealing  his  concern  under 
a  mask  of  irony,  "  China  tea  was  drunk  i'  Bursley 
afore  your  time." 


OMELETTE  75 

"  Mother  would  only  drink  Ceylon,"  saiH  she. 

"  That  doesna'  surprise  me,"  said  he,  as  if  to  im- 
ply that  no  vagary  on  the  part  of  Susan  could  sur- 
prise him.  And  he  proceeded,  reflectively:  "In 
th'  corner  cupboard,  sayst  tha?  " 

"  Yes,  in  a  large  tin  box." 

A  large  tin  box.  This  news  was  overwhelming. 
He  rose  abruptly  and  went  into  the  scullery.  In- 
dubitably there  was  a  large  tin  box,  pretty  nearly 
half  full  of  his  guarded  tea,  in  the  corner  cupboard. 

He  turned,  the  illusion  of  half  a  lifetime  shattered. 
"  That  there  woman  was  a  thief!  "  he  announced. 

"What  woman?" 

"  Mrs.  Butt." 

And  he  explained  to  Helen  all  his  elaborate  pre- 
cautions for  the  preservation  of  his  China  tea. 
Helen  was  wholly  sympathetic.  The  utter  correct- 
ness of  her  attitude  towards  Mrs.  Butt  was  balm 
to  him.  Only  the  theory  was  conceivable.  The 
wretched  woman  must  have  had  a  key  to  his  caddy. 
During  his  absence  from  the  house  she  must  have 
calmly  helped  herself  to  tea  at  five  shillings  a  pound 
—  a  spoonful  or  so  at  a  time.  Doubtless  she  made 
tea  for  her  private  consumption  exactly  when  she 
chose.  It  was  even  possible  that  she  walked  off  from 
time  to  time  with  quantities  of  tea  to  her  own  home. 


76     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

And  he  thought  himself  so  clever,  so  much  cleverer 
than  a  servant! 

"  You  can't  have  her  back,  as  she  isn't  honest,  even 
if  she  conies  back,"  said  Helen. 

"  Oh,  her  won't  come  back,"  said  James.  "  Fact 
is,  I've  had  difficulties  with  her  for  a  long  time 
now." 

"  Then  what  shall  you  do,  my  poor  dear  uncle?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  he,  "  I  mun  ask  you  that.  It  was 
you  as  was  th'  cause  of  her  going." 

"  Oh,  uncle !  "  she  exclaimed,  laughing.  "  How 
can  you  say  such  a  thing?  "  And  she  added,  seri- 
ously: "You  can't  be  expected  to  cook  for  your- 
self, can  you?  And  as  for  getting  a  new  one  — " 

He  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  she  had  taken 
to  calling  him  simply  uncle,  instead  of  great-step- 
uncle. 

"  A  new  'un !  "  he  muttered,  grimly,  and  sighed  in 
despair. 

"  I  shall  stay  and  look  after  your  supper,"  she  said, 
brightly. 

"Yes,  and  what  about  to-morrow?"  He  grew 
gloomier. 

"  To-morrow's  Sunday.  I'll  come  to-morrow,  for 
breakfast." 


OMELETTE  77 

"Yes,  and  what  about  Monday?"  His  gloom 
was  not  easily  to  be  dispersed. 

"  I'll  come  on  Monday,"  she  replied,  with  increas- 
ing cheerfulness. 

"  But  your  school,  where  ye  teach  everything, 
lass?" 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  give  up  school,"  said  she,  "  at 
once.  They  must  do  without  me.  It  will  mean 
promotion  for  some  one.  I  can't  bother  about  giv- 
ing proper  notice.  Supposing  you  had  been  danger- 
ously ill,  I  should  have  come,  and  they  would  have 
managed  without  me.  Therefore,  they  can  manage 
without  me.  Therefore,  they  must." 

He  kept  up  a  magnificent  gloom  until  she  left  for 
the  night.  And  then  he  danced  a  hornpipe  of  glee 
—  not  with  liis  legs,  but  in  his  heart.  He  had  de- 
liberately schemed  to  get  rid  of  Mrs.  Butt  by  means 
of  Helen  Rathbone.  The  idea  had  occurred  to  him 
as  he  entered  the  house.  That  was  why  he  had  en- 
couraged her  to  talk  freely  about  servants  by  assur- 
ing her  that  Mrs.  Butt  was  not  in  the  scullery,  being 
well  aware  that  Mrs.  Butt  was  in  the  scullery.  He 
had  made  a  fool  of  the  unsuspecting,  good-natured 
Helen,  smart  though  she  was!  He  had  transitory 
qualms  of  fear  about  the  possible  expensiveness  of 


78     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

Helen.  He  had  decidedly  not  meant  that  she  should 
give  up  school  and  nearly  thirty  shillings  a  week. 
But,  still,  he  had  managed  her  so  far,  and  he  reck- 
oned that  he  could  continue  to  manage  her. 

He  regretted  that  she  had  not  praised  his  music. 
And  Helen  wrote  the  same  evening  to  her  mother. 
From  a  very  long  and  very  exciting  letter  the  follow- 
ing excerpts  may  be  culled: 

"  I  saw  the  fat  old  servant  in  the  scullery  at  once. 
But  uncle  thought  she  wasn't  there.  He  is  a  funny 
old  man  —  rather  silly,  like  most  old  men  —  but  I 
like  him,  and  you  can  say  what  you  please.  He  isn't 
silly  really.  I  instantly  decided  that  I  would  get 
rid  of  that  servant.  And  I  did  so,  and  poor  uncle 
never  suspected.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  come  to  live 
here.  It's  much  safer.  Supposing  he  was  taken  ill 
and  died,  and  left  all  his  money  to  hospitals  and 
things,  how  awfully  stupid  that  would  be!  I  told 
him  I  should  leave  the  school,  and  he  didn't  turn  a 
hair.  He's  a  dear,  and  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  his 
money  —  except  to  spend  it  for  him.  His  tiny  house 
is  simply  lovely,  terrifically  clean,  and  in  the  loveliest 
order.  But  I've  no  intention  that  we  shall  stay  here. 
I  think  I  shall  take  a  large  house  up  at  Hillport. 
Uncle  is  only  old  in  some  ways;  in  many  ways  he's 
quite  young.  So  I  hope  he  won't  mind  a  change. 


OMELETTE  79 

By  the  way,  he  told  me  about  your  age.     My  dear- 
est mother,  how  could  you  — "  etc. 

In  such  manner  came  Helen  Rathbone  to  keep 
house  for  her  great-stepuncle. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  GREAT   CHANGE 

"  HELEN  RATHBONE,"  said  Uncle  James  one  Tues- 
day afternoon,  "  have  ye  been  meddling  in  my  cash- 
box?" 

They  were  sitting  in  the  front  room,  Helen  in  a 
light-grey  costume  that  cascaded  over  her  chair  and 
half  the  next  chair,  and  James  Ollerenshaw  in  the 
deshabille  of  his  Turkish  cap.  James  was  at  his 
desk.  It  is  customary  in  the  Five  Towns,  when  you 
feel  combative,  astonished,  or  ironic  towards  another 
person,  to  address  that  other  person  by  his  full  name. 

"  You  left  the  key  in  your  cashbox  this  morning, 
uncle,"  said  Helen,  glancing  up  from  a  book,  "  while 
you  were  fiddling  with  your  safe  in  your  bedroom." 

He  did  not  like  the  word  "  fiddling."  It  did  not 
suit  either  his  dignity  or  the  dignity  of  his  huge 
Milner  safe. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "and  if  I  did!  I  wasn't  up- 
stairs more  nor  five  minutes,  and  th'  new  servant 
had  na'  come!  There  was  but  you  and  me  in  th' 
house." 

80 


A  GREAT  CHANGE  81 

"  Yes.  But,  you  see,  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  go  out 
marketing,  and  I  couldn't  wait  for  you  to  come 
down." 

He  ignored  this  remark.  "  There's  a  ten-pun' 
note  missing,"  said  he.  "  Don't  play  them  tricks 
on  me,  lass;  I'm  getting  an  oldish  man.  Where 
hast  hidden  it?  I  mun  go  to  th'  bank."  He  spoke 
plaintively. 

"  My  dear  uncle,"  she  replied,  "  I've  not  hidden 
your  ten-pound  note.  I  wanted  some  money  in  a 
hurry,  so  I  took  it.  I've  spent  some  of  it." 

"  Spent  some  of  it!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  How  much 
hast  spent?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  But  I  make  up  my  accounts 
every  night." 

"  Lass,"  said  he,  staring  firmly  out  of  the  window, 
"  this  won't  do.  I  let  ye  know  at  once.  This 
wunna'  do."  He  was  determined  to  be  master  in 
his  own  house.  She  also  was  determined  to  be  mas- 
ter in  his  own  house.  Conflict  was  imminent. 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  mean,  uncle?" 

He  hesitated.  He  was  not  afraid  of  her.  But 
he  was  afraid  of  her  dress  —  not  of  the  material, 
but  of  the  cut  of  it.  If  she  had  been  Susan  in 
Susan's  dowdy  and  wrinkled  alpaca,  he  would  have 
translated  his  just  emotion  into  what  critics  call 


82     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  simple,  nervous  English  " —  that  is  to  say,  Shake- 
spearean prose.  But  the  aristocratic,  insolent  per- 
fection of  Helen's  gown  gave  him  pause. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  merely  didn't  think  of  it,"  said  she.  "  I've 
been  very  busy." 

"If  you  wanted  money,  why  didn't  you  ask  me  for 
it?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I've  been  here  over  a  week,"  said  she,  "  and 
you've  given  me  a  pound  and  a  postal  order  for  ten 
shillings,  which  I  had  to  ask  for.  Surely  you  must 
have  guessed,  uncle,  that  even  if  I'd  put  the  thirty 
shillings  in  the  savings  bank  we  couldn't  live  on  the 
interest  of  it,  and  that  I  was  bound  to  want  more. 
Something  like  seventy  meals  have  been  served  in 
this  house  since  I  entered  it." 

"  I  gave  Mrs.  Butt  a. pound  a  wik,"  he  observed. 

"  But  think  what  a  good  manager  Mrs.  Butt 
was !  "  she  said,  with  the  sweetness  of  a  saint. 

He  was  accustomed  to  distributing  satire,  but  not 
to  receiving  it.  And,  receiving  this  snowball  full 
in  the  mouth,  he  did  not  quite  know  what  to  do  with 
it ;  whether  to  pretend  that  he  had  received  nothing, 
or  to  call  a  policeman.  He  ended  by  spluttering. 

"  It's  easy  enough  to  ask  for  money  when  you  want 
it,"  he  said. 


A  GREAT  CHANGE  83 

"  I  hate  asking,  for  money,"  she  said.  "  All 
women  do." 

"  Then  am  I  to  be  inquiring  every  morning  whether 
you  want  money?  "  he  questioned,  sarcastically. 

"  Certainly,  uncle,"  she  answered.  "  How  else 
are  you  to  know?  " 

Difficult  to  credit  that  that  girl  had  been  an  angel 
of  light  all  the  week,  existing  in  a  paradise  which 
she  had  created  for  herself,  and  for  him!  And 
now,  to  defend  an  action  utterly  indefensible,  she  was 
employing  a  tone  that  might  be  compared  to  some 
fiendish  instrumental  device  of  a  dentist. 

But  James  Ollerenshaw  did  not  wish  his  teeth 
stopped  nor  yet  extracted.  He  had  excellent  teeth. 
And,  in  common  with  all  men  who  have  never  taken 
thirty  consecutive  repasts  alone  with  the  same  woman, 
he  knew  how  to  treat  women,  how  to  handle  them  — 
the  trout! 

He  stood  up.  He  raised  all  his  body.  Helen 
raised  only  her  eyebrows. 

"Helen  Rathbone!"  Such  was  the  exordium. 
As  an  exordium,  it  was  faultless.  But  it  was  des- 
tined to  remain  a  fragment.  It  goes  down  to  history 
as  a  perfect  fragment,  like  the  beginning  of  a  pagan 
temple  that  the  death  of  the  gods  has  rendered  super- 
fluous. 


84     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

For  a  dog-cart  stopped  in  front  of  the  house  at 
that  precise  second,  deposited  a  lady  of  commanding 
mien,  and  dashed  off  again.  The  lady  opened 
James's  gate  and  knocked  at  James's  front  door. 
She  could  not  be  a  relative  of  a  tenant.  James  was 
closely  acquainted  with  all  his  tenants,  and  he  had 
none  of  that  calibre.  Moreover,  Helen  had  caused 
a  small  board  to  be  affixed  to  the  gate :  "  Tenants 
will  please  go  round  to  the  back." 

"Bless  us!"  he  murmured,  angrily.  And,  by 
force  of  habit,  he  went  and  opened  the  door.  Then 
he  recognized  the  lady.  It  was  Sarah  Swetnam, 
eldest  child  of  the  large  and  tumultuously  intellectual 
Swetnam  family  that  lived  in  a  largish  house  in  a 
largish  way  higher  up  the  road,  and  as  to  whose 
financial  stability  rumour  always  had  something  in- 
teresting to  say. 

"Is  Miss  Rathbone  here?" 

Before  he  could  reply,  there  was  an  ecstatic  cry 
behind  him:  "Sally!"  And  another  in  front  of 
him:  "Nell!" 

In  the  very  nick  of  time  he  slipped  aside,  and  thus 
avoided  the  inconvenience  of  being  crushed  to  pulp 
between  two  locomotives  under  full  steam.  It  ap- 
peared that  they  had  not  met  for  some  years,  Sally 
having  been  in  London.  The  reunion  was  an  affect- 


A  GREAT  CHANGE  85 

ing  sight,  and  such  a  sight  as  had  never  before  been 
witnessed  in  James's  house.  The  little  room  seemed 
to  be  full  of  fashionable  women,  to  be  all  gloves, 
frills,  hat,  parasol,  veil,  and  whirling  flowers;  also 
scent.  They  kissed,  through  Sally's  veil  first,  and 
then  she  lifted  the  veil,  and  four  vermilion  lips  clung 
together.  Sally  was  even  taller  than  Helen,  with 
a  solid  waist;  and  older,  more  brazen.  They  both 
sat  down.  Fashionable  women  have  a  manner  of 
sitting  down  quite  different  from  that  of  ordinary 
women,  such  as  the  wives  of  James's  tenants.  They 
only  touch  the  back  of  the  chair  at  the  top.  They 
don't  loll,  but  they  only  escape  lolling  by  dint  of 
gracefulness.  It  is  an  affair  of  curves,  slants,  de- 
scents, nicely  calculated.  They  elaborately  lead 
your  eye  downwards  over  gradually  increasing  ex- 
panses, and  naturally  you  expect  to  see  their  feet  — 
and  you  don't  see  their  feet.  The  thing  is  apt  to  be 
disturbing  to  unhabituated  beholders. 

Then  fashionable  women  always  begin  their  con- 
versation right  off.  There  are  no  modest  or  shy 
or  decently  awkward  silences  at  the  start.  They 
slip  into  a  conversation  as  a  duck  into  water.  In 
three  minutes  Helen  had  told  Sarah  Swetnam  every- 
thing about  her  leaving  the  school,  and  about  her 
establishment  with  her  great-stepuncle.  And  Sarah 


[86     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

seemed  delighted,  and  tapped  the  tiles  of  the  floor 
with  the  tip  of  her  sunshade,  and  gazed  splendidly 
over  the  room. 

"  And  there  are  your  books  there,  I  see !  "  she 
said,  in  her  positive,  calm  voice,  pointing  to  a  few 
hundred  books  that  were  stacked  in  a  corner. 
"How  lovely!  You  remember  you  promised  to 
lend  me  that  book  of  Thoreau's  —  what  did  you  call 
it? —  and  you  never  did!  " 

"  Next  time  you  come  I'll  find  it  for  you,"  said 
Helen. 

Next  time  she  came!  This  kind  of  visit  would 
occur  frequently,  then!  They  were  talking  just  as 
if  James  Ollerenshaw  had  been  in  Timbuctoo,  instead 
of  by  the  mantelpiece,  when  Sally  suddenly  turned  on 
him. 

"  It  must  be  very  nice  for  you  to  have  Nell  like 
this !  "  She  addressed  him  with  a  glowing  smile. 

They  had  never  been  introduced!  A  week  ago 
they  had  passed  each  other  in  St.  Luke's-square  with- 
out a  sign.  Of  the  Swetnam  family,  James  "  knew  " 
the  father  alone,  and  him  slightly.  What  chiefly 
impressed  him  in  Sarah  was  her  nerve.  He  said 
nothing;  he  was  tongue-tied. 

"  It's  a  great  change  for  you,"  proceeded  Sarah. 

"Ay,"  he  agreed;  "  it's  that." 


CHAPTER  X 

A    CALL 

THE  next  moment  the  two  fluffy  women  had  decided, 
without  in  the  least  consulting  James,  that  they  would 
ascend  to  Helen's  bedroom  to  look  at  a  hat  which, 
James  was  surprised  to  learn,  Helen  had  seen  in 
Brunt's  window  that  morning  and  had  bought  on  the 
spot.  No  wonder  she  had  been  in  a  hurry  to  go 
marketing;  no  wonder  she  had  spent  "  some  "  of  his 
ten-pound  note!  He  had  seen  hats  in  Brunt's 
marked  as  high  as  two  guineas;  but  he  had  not 
dreamt  that  such  hats  would  ever  enter  his  house. 
While  he  had  been  labouring,  collecting  his  rents  and 
arranging  for  repairs,  throughout  the  length  and  the 
breadth  of  Bursley  and  Turnhill,  she,  under  pretence 
of  marketing,  had  been  flinging  away  ten-pound  notes 
at  Brunt's.  The  whole  business  was  fantastic,  sim- 
ply and  madly  fantastic;  so  fantastic  that  he  had 
not  yet  quite  grasped  the  reality  of  it!  The  whole 
business  was  unheard  of.  He  saw,  with  all  the 
clearness  of  his  masculine  intellect,  that  it  must  cease. 
The  force  with  which  he  decided  within  himself  that 
8? 


B8     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

it  must  cease  —  and  instanter  I  —  bordered  upon  the 
hysterical.  As  he  had  said,  plaintively,  he  was  an 
oldish  man.  His  habits,  his  manners,  and  his  no- 
tions, especially  his  notions  about  money,  were  fixed 
and  set  like  plaster  of  Paris  in  a  mould.  Helen's 
conduct  was  nothing  less  than  dangerous.  It  might 
bring  him  to  a  sudden  death  from  heart  disease. 
Happily,  he  had  a  very  good  week  indeed  with  his 
rents.  He  trotted  about  all  day  on  Mondays  and 
on  Tuesday  mornings,  gathering  his  rents,  and  on 
Tuesday  afternoons  he  usually  experienced  the  as- 
suaged content  of  an  alligator  after  the  weekly  meal. 
Otherwise  there  was  no  knowing  what  might  not 
have  been  the  disastrous  consequences  of  Helen's 
bare-faced  robbery  and  of  her  unscrupulous,  unre- 
pentant defence  of  that  robbery.  For  days  and  days 
he  had  imagined  himself  in  heaven  with  a  seraph 
who  was  also  a  good  cook.  He  had  forty  times 
congratulated  himself  on  catching  Helen.  And 
now  .  .  .  ! 

But  it  must  stop. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  cooking.  His  mouth 
remembered  its  first  taste  of  the  incomparable  kidney 
omelette.  What  an  ecstasy!  Still,  a  ten-pound 
note  for  even  a  kidney  omelette  jarred  on  the  fineness 
of  his  sense  of  values. 


A  CALL  89 

A  feminine  laugh  —  Helen's  —  came  down  the 
narrow  stairs  and  through  the  kitchen.  .  .  .  No, 
the  whole  house  was  altered,  with  well-bred,  dis- 
tinguished women's  laughter  floating  about  the  stairs 
like  that. 

He  called  upon  his  lifelong  friend  and  comforter 
—  the  concertina.  That  senseless  thing  of  rosewood, 
ivory,  ebony,  mother-of-pearl,  and  leather,  was  to 
him  what  a  brother,  a  pipe,  a  bull  terrier,  a  trusted 
confidant,  might  have  been  to  another  James.  And 
now,  in  the  accents  of  the  Hallelujah  Chorus,  it 
yielded  to  his  squeezing^  the  secret  and  sublime  sol- 
ace which  men  term  poetry. 

Then  there  was  a  second,  and  equally  imperious, 
knock  at  the  door. 

He  loosed  his  fingers  from  his  friend,  and  opened 
the  door. 

Mr.  Emanuel  Prockter  stood  on  the  doorstep. 
Mr.  Emanuel  Prockter  wore  a  beautiful  blue  suit, 
with  a  white  waistcoat  and  pale  gold  tie;  yellow 
gloves,  boots  with  pointed  toes,  a  glossy  bowler  hat, 
a  cane,  and  an  eyeglass.  He  was  an  impeccable 
young  man,  and  the  avowed  delight  of  his  tailor, 
whose  bills  were  paid  by  Mrs.  Prockter. 

"Is  Miss  Rathbone  at  home?"  asked  Emanuel, 
after  a  cough. 


9o    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"Helen?" 

"Ye-es." 

"Ay,"  said  James,  grimly.  "  Her's  quite  at 
home." 

"Can  I  see  her?" 

James  opened  more  widely  the  door.  "  Happen 
you'd  better  step  inside,"  said  he. 

"Thanks,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw.  What  — er  — 
fine  weather  we're  having !  " 

James  ignored  this  quite  courteous  and  truthful 
remark.  He  shut  the  door,  went  into  the  kitchen, 
and  called  up  the  stairs:  "  Helen,  a  young  man  to 
see  ye." 

In  the  bedroom,  Helen  and  Sarah  Swetnam  had 
exhausted  the  Brunt  hat,  and  were  spaciously  at  sea 
in  an  enchanted  ocean  of  miscellaneous  gossip  such 
as  is  only  possible  between  two  highly-educated 
women  who  scorn  tittle-tattle.  Helen  had  the  back 
bedroom;  partly  because  the  front  bedroom  was  her 
uncle's,  but  partly  also  because  the  back  bedroom  was 
just  as  large  as  and  much  quieter  than  the  other,  and 
because  she  preferred  it.  There  had  been  no  diffi- 
culty about  furniture.  Even  so  good  a  landlord  as 
James  Ollerenshaw  is  obliged  now  and  then  to  go 
to  extremes  in  the  pursuit  of  arrears  of  rent,  and  the 
upper  part  of  the  house  was  crowded  with  choice 


A  CALL  91 

specimens  of  furniture  which  had  once  belonged  to 
the  more  magnificent  of  his  defaulting  tenants. 
Helen's  bedroom  was  not  "  finished  " ;  nor,  since  she 
regarded  it  as  a  temporary  lodging  rather  than  a 
permanent  habitation,  was  she  in  a  mind  to  finish 
it.  Still,  with  her  frocks  dotted  about,  the  hat  on 
the  four-post  bed,  and  her  silver-mounted  brushes 
and  manicure  tools  on  the  dressing-table,  it  had  a 
certain  stylishness.  Sarah  shared  the  bed  with  the 
hat.  Helen  knelt  at  a  trunk. 

"  Whatever  made  you  think  of  coming  to  Burs- 
ley?"  Sarah  questioned. 

"Don't  you  think  it's  better  than  Longshaw?" 
said  Helen. 

"  Yes,  my  darling  child.  But  that's  not  why  you 
came.  If  you  ask  me,  I  believe  it  was  your  deliber- 
ate intention  to  capture  your  great-uncle.  Anyhow, 
I  congratulate  you  on  your  success." 

"  Ah !  "  Helen  murmured,  smiling  to  herself, 
"  I'm  not  out  of  the  wood  yet." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  uncle  and  I  haven't  quite  decided 
whether  he  is  to  have  his  way  or  I  am  to  have  mine ; 
we  were  both  thinking  about  it  when  you  happened 
to  call."  And  then,  as  there  was  a  little  pause: 
"  Are  people  talking  about  us  much?  " 


92     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

She  did  not  care  whether  people  were  talking  much 
or  little,  but  she  had  an  obscure  desire  to  shift  ever 
so  slightly  the  direction  of  the  conversation. 

"  I've  only  been  here  a  day  or  two,  so  I  can  scarcely 
judge,"  said  Sarah.  "  But  Lilian  came  in  from  the 
art  school  this  morning  with  an  armful  of  chatter." 

"  Let  me  see,  I  forget,"  Helen  said.  "  Is  Lilian 
the  youngest,  or  the  next  to  the  youngest?  " 

"  My  dearest  child,  Lilian  is  the  youngest  but  one, 
of  course ;  but  she's  grown  up  now  —  naturally." 

"What!  When  I  saw  her  last,  that  day  when 
she  was  with  you  at  Knype,  she  had  a  ribbon  in  her 
hair,  and  she  looked- ten." 

"  She's  eighteen.     And  haven't  you  heard  ?  " 

"Heard  what?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you've  been  in  Bursley  a 
week  and  more,  and  haven't  heard?  Surely  you 
know  Andrew  Dean?  " 

"I  know  Andrew  Dean,"  said  Helen;  and  she 
said  nothing  else. 

"  When  did  you  last  see  him?  " 

"  Oh,  about  a  fortnight  ago." 

"  It  was  before  that.  He  didn't  tell  you?  Well, 
it's  just  like  him,  that  is;  that's  Andrew  all  over!  " 

"What  is?" 

"He's  engaged  to  Lilian.     It's  the  first  engage- 


A  CALL  93 

ment  in  the  family,  and  she's  the  youngest  but 
one." 

Helen  shut  the  trunk  with  a  snap,  then  opened  it 
and  shut  it  again.  And  then  she  rose,  smoothing 
her  hair. 

"  I  scarcely  know  Lilian,"  she  said,  coldly.  "  And 
I  don't  know  your  mother  at  all.  But  I  must  call 
and  congratulate  the  child.  No,  Andrew  Dean 
didn't  breathe  a  word." 

"  I  may  tell  you  as  a  dreadful  secret,  Nell,  that 
we  aren't  any  of  us  in  the  seventh  heaven  about 
it.  Aunt  Annie  said  yesterday :  '  I  don't  know  that 
I'm  so  set  up  with  it  as  all  that,  Jane  '  (meaning 
mother).  We  aren't  so  set  up  with  it  as  all  that!  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  we  aren't.  I  don't  know  why.  I  pretend 
to  be,  lest  Lilian  should  imagine  I'm  jealous." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  voice  of  James  Ol- 
lerenshaw  announced  a  young  man. 

The  remainder  of  that  afternoon  was  like  a  be- 
wildering dream  to  James  Ollerenshaw.  His  front 
room  seemed  to  be  crowded  with  a  multitude  of  pea- 
cocks, that  would  have  been  more  at  home  under  the 
sun  of  Mrs.  Prockter's  lawns  up  at  Hillport.  Yet 
there  were  only  three  persons  present  besides  him- 
self. But  decidedly  they  were  not  of  his  world;  they 


94     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

were  of  the  world  that  referred  to  him  as  "  old 
Jimmy  Ollerenshaw,"  or  briefly  as  "  Jimmy."  And 
he  had  to  sit  and  listen  to  them,  and  even  to  answer 
coherently  when  spoken  to.  Emanuel  Prockter  was 
brilliant.  He  had  put  his  hat  on  one  chair  and  his 
cane  across  another,  and  he  conversed  with  ducal 
facility.  The  two  things  about  him  that  puzzled  the 
master  of  the  house  were  —  first,  why  he  was  not, 
at  such  an  hour,  engaged  in  at  any  rate  the  pretence 
of  earning  his  liring;  and,  second,  why  he  did  not 
take  his  gloves  off.  No  notion  of  work  seemed  to 
exist  in  the  minds  of  the  three.  They  chattered  of 
tennis,  novels,  music,  and  particularly  of  amateur 
operatic  societies.  James  acquired  the  information 
that  Emanuel  was  famous  as  a  singer  of  songs.  The 
topic  led  them  naturally  to  James's  concertina;  the 
talk  lightly  caressed  James's  concertina,  and  then 
Emanuel  swept  it  off  to  the  afternoon  tea-room 
of  the  new  Midland  Grand  Hotel  at  Manchester, 
where  Emanuel  had  lately  been.  And  that  led  to 
the  Old  Oak  Tree  tea-house  in  Bond-street,  where, 
not  to  be  beaten  by  Emanuel,  Sarah  Swetnam  had 
lately  been. 

"  Suppose  we  have  tea,"  said  Helen. 

And  she  picked  up  a  little  brass  bell  which  stood 
on  the  central  table  and  tinkled  it.  James  had  not 


A  CALL  95 

noticed  the  bell.  It  was  one  of  the  many  little 
changes  that  Helen  had  introduced.  Each  change 
by  itself  was  a  nothing  —  what  is  one  small  bell  in 
a  house? — yet  in  the  mass  they  amounted  to  much. 
The  bell  was  obviously  new.  She  must  have  bought 
it;  but  she  had  not  mentioned  it  to  him.  And  how 
could  they  all  sit  at  the  tiny  table  in  the  kitchen? 
Moreover,  he  had  no  fancy  for  entertaining  the 
whole  town  of  Bursley  to  meals.  However,  the  im- 
mediate prospect  of  tea  produced  in  James  a  feeling 
of  satisfaction,  even  though  he  remained  in  perfect 
ignorance  of  the  methods  by  which  Helen  meant  to 
achieve  the  tea.  She  had  rung  the  bell,  and  gone 
on  talking,  as  if  the  tea  would  cook  itself  and  walk 
in  on  its  hind  legs  and  ask  to  be  eaten. 

Then  the  new  servant  entered  with  a  large  tray. 
James  had  never  seen  such  a  servant,  a  servant  so 
entirely  new.  She  was  wearing  a  black  frock,  and 
various  parts  of  the  frock,  and  the  top  of  her  head, 
were  covered  with  stiffly-starched  white  linen  —  or 
was  it  cotton?  Her  apron,  which  had  two  pockets, 
was  more  elaborate  than  an  antimacassar.  Helen 
coolly  instructed  her  to  place  the  tray  on  his  desk; 
which  she  did,  brushing  irreverently  aside  a  number 
of  rent  books. 

On  the  tray  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  eat 


96     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

but  a  dozen  slices  of  the  thinnest  conceivable  bread 
and  butter. 

Helen  rose.     Emanuel  also  rose. 

Helen  poured  out  the  tea.  Emanuel  took  a  cup 
and  saucer  in  one  hand  and  the  plate  of  bread  and 
butter  in  the  other,  and  ceremoniously  approached 
Sarah  Swetnam.  Sarah  accepted  the  cup  and  saucer, 
delicately  chose  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter  and 
lodged  it  on  her  saucer,  and  went  on  talking. 

Emanuel  returned  to  the  table,  and,  re-laden,  ap- 
proached old  Jimmy,  and  old  Jimmy  had  to  lodge 
a  piece  of  bread  and  butter  on  his  saucer.  Then 
Emanuel  removed  his  gloves,  and  in  a  moment  they 
were  all  drinking  tea  and  nibbling  bread  and  butter. 

What  a  fall  was  this  from  kidney  omelettes! 
And  four  had  struck!  Did  Helen  expect  her  uncle 
to  make  his  tea  off  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter  that 
weighed  about  two  drachms? 

When  the  alleged  tea  was  over  James  got  on  his 
feet,  and  silently  slid  into  the  kitchen.  The  fact  was 
that  Emanuel  Prockter  and  the  manikin  airs  of 
Emanuel  Prockter  made  him  positively  sick.  He 
had  not  been  in  the  kitchen  more  than  a  minute  be- 
fore he  was  aware  of  amazing  matters  in  the  con- 
versation. 

"Yes,"  said  Helen;  "it's  small." 


A  CALL  97 

"  But,  my  child,  you've  always  been  used  to  a 
small  house,  surely.  I  think  it's  just  as  quaint  and 
pretty  as  a  little  museum." 

"  Would  you  like  to  live  in  a  little  museum?  " 

A  laugh  from  Emanuel,  and  the  voice  of  Helen 
proceeding: 

"  I've  always  lived  in  a  small  house,  just  as  I've 
taught  six  hours  a  day  in  a  school.  But  not  because 
I  wanted  to.  I  like  room.  I  daresay  that  uncle 
and  I  may  find  another  house  one  of  these  days." 

"  Up  at  Hillport,  I  hope,"  Emanuel  put  in. 
James  could  see  his  mincing  imbecile  smile  through 
the  kitchen  wall. 

"Who  knows?  "said  Helen. 

James  returned  to  the  front  room.  "  What's 
that  ye're  saying?  "  he  questioned  the  company. 

"  I  was  just  saying  how  quaint  and  pretty  your 
house  is,"  said  Sarah,  and  she  rose  to  depart.  More 
kissings,  flutterings,  swishings !  Emanuel  bowed. 

Emanuel  followed  Miss  Swetnam  in  a  few  min- 
utes. Helen  accompanied  him  to  the  gate,  where 
she  stayed  a  little  while  talking  to  him.  James  was 
in  the  blackest  gloom. 

"  And  now,  you  dear  old  thing,"  said  Helen, 
vivaciously  bustling  into  the  house,  "  you  shall  have 
your  tea.  You've  behaved  like  a  perfect  angel." 


98     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

And  she  kissed  him  on  the  cheek,  very  excitedly, 
as  he  thought. 

She  gave  him  another  kidney  omelette  for  his  tea. 
It  was  even  more  adorable  than  the  former  one. 
With  the  taste  of  it  in  his  mouth,  he  could  not  recur 
to  the  question  of  the  ten-pound  note  all  at  once. 
When  tea  was  over  she  retired  upstairs,  and  remained 
in  retirement  for  ages.  She  descended  at  a  quarter 
to  eight,  with  her  hat  and  gloves  on.  It  appeared 
to  him  that  her  eyes  were  inflamed. 

"  I'm  going  out,"  she  said,  with  no  further  ex- 
planation. 

And  out  she  went,  leaving  the  old  man,  stricken 
daft  by  too  many  sensations,  to  collect  his  wits. 

He  had  not  even  been  to  the  bank  1 

And  the  greatest  sensation  of  all  the  nightmarish 
days  was  still  in  reserve  for  him.  At  a  quarter-past 
eight  some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  He  opened  it, 
being  handier  than  the  new  servant.  He  imagined 
himself  ready  for  anything ;  but  he  was  not  ready  for 
the  apparition  which  met  him  on  the  threshold. 

Mrs.  Prockter,  of  Hillport,  asked  to  be  admitted ! 


CHAPTER  XI 

ANOTHER   CALL 

MRS.  PROCKTER  was  compelled  to  ask  for  admis- 
sion, because  James,  struck  moveless  and  speechless 
by  the  extraordinary  sight  of  her,  offered  no  invita- 
tion to  enter.  He  merely  stood  in  front  of  the  half- 
opened  door. 

"May  I  come  in,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  ?  "  she  said, 
very  urbanely.  "  I  hope  you  will  excuse  this  very 
informal  call.  I've  altered  my  dinner  hour  in  order 
to  pay  it." 

And  she  smiled.  The  smile  seemed  to  rouse  him 
from  a  spell. 

"  Come  in,  missis,  do!  "  he  conjured  her,  warmly. 

He  was  James;  he  was  even  Jimmy;  but  he  was 
also  a  man,  very  much  a  man,  though  the  fact  had 
only  recently  begun  to  impress  itself  on  him.  Mrs. 
Prockter,  while  a  dowager  —  portly,  possibly  fussy, 
perhaps  slightly  comic  to  a  younger  generation  — 
was  still  considerably  younger  than  James.  With 
her  rich  figure,  her  excellent  complexion,  her  care- 
fully-cherished hair,  and  her  apparel,  she  was  a 
99 


ioo    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

woman  to  captivate  a  man  of  sixty,  whose  practical 
experience  of  the  sex  extended  over  nine  days. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she,  gratefully. 

He  shut  the  front  door,  as  if  he  were  shutting  a 
bird  in  a  cage;  and  he  also  shut  the  door  leading  to 
the  kitchen  —  a  door  which  had  not  been  shut  since 
the  kitchen  fire  smoked  in  the  celebrated  winter  of 
1897.  She  sat  down  at  once  in  the  easy-chair. 

"  Ah !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  relief.  And  then  she 
began  to  fan  herself  with  a  fan  which  was  fastened 
to  her  person  by  a  chain  that  might  have  moored  a 
steamer. 

James,  searching  about  for  something  else  to  do 
while  he  was  collecting  his  forces,  drew  the  blind 
and  lighted  the  gas.  But  it  was  not  yet  dark. 

"  I  wonder  what  you  will  think  of  me,  calling  like 
this?  "  she  said,  with  a  sardonic  smile. 

It  was  apparent  that,  whatever  he  thought  of  her, 
she  would  not  be  disturbed  or  abashed.  She  was 
utterly  at  her  ease.  She  could  not,  indeed,  have  re- 
called the  moment  when  she  had  not  been  at  her  ease. 
She  sat  in  the  front  room  with  all  the  external  symp- 
toms of  being  at  home.  This  was  what  chiefly  sur- 
prised James  Ollerenshaw  in  his  grand  guests  — 
they  all  took  his  front  room  for  granted.  They  be- 
trayed no  emotion  at  its  smallness  or  its  plainness, 


ANOTHER  CALL  101 

or  its  eccentricities.  He  would  somehow  have  ex- 
pected them  to  signify,  overtly  or  covertly,  that  that 
kind  of  room  was  not  the  kind  of  room  to  which  they 
were  accustomed. 

"  Anyhow,  I'm  glad  to  see  ye,  Mrs.  Prockter," 
James  returned. 

A  speech  which  did  not  in  the  least  startle  Mrs. 
Prockter,  who  was  thoroughly  used  to  people  being 
glad  to  see  her.  But  it  startled  James.  He  had 
uttered  it  instinctively;  it  was  the  expression  of  an  in- 
stinctive gladness  which  took  hold  of  him  and  em- 
ployed his  tongue  on  its  own  account,  and  which 
rose  superior  even  to  his  extreme  astonishment  at 
the  visit.  He  was  glad  to  see  her.  She  was  stout 
and  magnificent,  in  her  silk  and  her  ribbons.  He 
felt  that  he  preferred  stout  women  to  thin ;  and  that, 
without  being  aware  of  it,  he  had  always  preferred 
stout  women  to  thin.  It  was  a  question  of  taste. 
He  certainly  preferred  Mrs.  Prockter  to  Sarah 
Swetnam.  Mrs.  Prockter's  smile  was  the  smile  of 
a  benevolently-cynical  creature  whose  studies  in  hu- 
man nature  had  reached  the  advanced  stage.  James 
was  reassured  by  this,  for  it  avoided  the  necessity 
for  "nonsense."  .  .  .  Yes,  she  was  decidedly 
better  under  a  roof  and  a  gas-jet  than  in  the 
street. 


102    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  May  I  ask  if  your  niece  is  in?"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  She  isn't." 

He  had  been  sure  that  she  had  called  about  Helen, 
if  not  to  see  Helen.  But  there  was  a  conspiratorial 
accent  in  her  question  for  which  he  was  unprepared. 
So  he  sat  down  at  last. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter,  "  I'm  not  sorry  she 
isn't.  But  if  she  had  been  I  should  have  spoken 
just  the  same  —  not  to  her,  but  to  you.  Now,  Mr. 
Ollerenshaw,  I  think  you  and  I  are  rather  alike  in 
some  things.  I  hate  beating  about  the  bush,  and  I 
imagine  that  you  do." 

He  was  flattered.  And  he  was  perfectly  eased  by 
her  tone.  She  was  a  woman  to  whom  you  could 
talk  sense.  And  he  perceived  that,  though  a  casual 
observer  might  fail  to  find  the  points  of  resemblance 
between  them,  they  were  rather  alike. 

"  I  expect,"  said  he,  "  it's  pretty  well  known  i' 
this  town  as  I'm  not  one  that  beats  about  the 
bush." 

"Good!"  said  she.  "You  know  my  stepson, 
Emanuel?" 

"  He  was  here  a  bit  since,"  James  replied. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him?  " 

"How?" 


ANOTHER  CALL  103 

"As  a  man?" 

"  Well,  missis,  as  we  are  na'  beating  about  the 
bush,  I  think  he's  a  foo'." 

"  Now  that's  what  I  like !  "  she  exclaimed,  quite 
ravished.  "  He  is  a  fool,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  —  be- 
tween ourselves.  I  can  see  that  you  and  I  will  get 
on  together  splendidly !  Emanuel  is  a  fool.  I  can't 
help  it.  I  took  him  along  with  my  second  husband, 
and  I  do  my  best  for  him.  But  I'm  not  responsible 
for  his  character.  As  far  as  that  goes,  he  isn't  re- 
sponsible for  it,  either.  Not  only  is  he  a  fool,  but 
he  is  a  conceited  fool,  and  an  idle  fool ;  and  he  can't 
see  a  joke.  At  the  same  time  he  is  quite  honest, 
and  I  think  he's  a  gentleman.  But  being  a  gentle- 
man is  no  excuse  for  being  a  fool;  indeed,  I  think 
it  makes  it  worse." 

"  Nothing  can  make  it  worse,"  James  put  in. 

She  drew  down  the  corners  of  her  lips  and  stroked 
her  fine  grey  hair. 

"  You  say  Emanuel  has  been  here  to-day?" 

"  Ay !  "  said  James.  "  He  came  in  an'  had  a  sup 
o'  tea." 

"  Do  you  know  why  he  came?  " 

"  Maybe  he  felt  faintlike,  and  slipped  in  here,  as 
there's  no  public  nearer  than  the  Queen  Adelaide. 
Or  maybe  he  thought  as  I  was  getting  on  in  years, 


io4    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

and  he  wanted  for  to  make  my  acquaintance  afore 
I  died.     I  didna'  ask  him." 

"  I  see  you  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter. 
"  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,  my  stepson  is  courting  your 
niece." 

"  Great-stepniece,"  James  corrected;  and  added: 
"  Is  he  now?  To  tell  ye  th'  truth  I  didn't  know  til) 
th'other  day  as  they  were  acquainted." 

"  They  haven't  been  acquainted  long,"  Mrs. 
Prockter  informed  him.  "  You  may  have  heard 
that  Emanuel  is  thinking  of  going  into  partnership 
with  Mr.  Andrew  Dean  —  a  new  glaze  that  Mr. 
Dean  has  invented.  The  matter  may  turn  out  well, 
because  all  that  Mr.  Dean  really  wants  is  a  sleeping 
partner  with  money.  Emanuel  has  the  money,  and 
I  think  he  can  be  guaranteed  to  sleep.  Your  step- 
niece  met  Emanuel  by  accident  through  Mr.  Dean 
some  weeks  ago,  over  at  Longshaw.  They  must 
have  taken  to  each  other  at  once.  And  I  must  tell 
you  that  not  merely  is  my  stepson  courting  your  niece, 
but  your  niece  is  courting  my  stepson." 

"  You  surprise  me,  missis !  " 
"  I  daresay  I  do.     But  it  is  the  fact.     She  isn't 
a    Churchwoman;    at   least,    she   wasn't   a    Church- 
woman  at  Longshaw;  she  was  Congregational,  and 
not  very  much  at  that.     You  aren't  a  Churchman, 


ANOTHER  CALL  105 

either;  but  your  niece  now  goes  to  St.  Luke's  every 
Sunday.  So  does  my  stepson.  Your  niece  is  out  to- 
night. So  is  my  stepson.  And  if  they  are  not 
together  somewhere  I  shall  be  very  much  astonished. 
Of  course,  the  new  generation  does  as  it  likes." 

"  And  what  next?  "  James  inquired. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  next,"  cried  the  mature  lady, 
with  the  most  charming  vivacity.  "  I  like  your 
niece.  I've  met  her  twice  at  the  St.  Luke's  Guild, 
and  I  like  her.  I  should  have  asked  her  to  come 
and  see  me,  only  I'm  determined  not  to  encourage 
her  with  Emanuel.  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,  I'm  not  going 
to  have  her  marrying  Emanuel,  and  that's  why  I've 
come  to  see  you." 

The  horror  of  his  complicated  situation  displayed 
itself  suddenly  to  James.  He  who  had  always  led 
a  calm,  unworried  life,  was  about  to  be  shoved  into 
the  very  midst  of  a  hullaballoo  of  women  and  fools. 

His  wizened  body  shrank;  and  he  was  not  sure 
that  his  pride  was  quite  unhurt.  Mrs.  Prockter  no- 
ticed this. 

"  Oh !  "  she  resumed,  with  undiminished  vivacity, 
"  it's  not  because  I  think  your  niece  isn't  good  enough 
for  Emanuel;  it's  because  I  think  she's  a  great  deal 
too  good !  And  yet  it  isn't  that,  either.  The  truth 
is,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,  I'm  a  purely  selfish  woman. 


io6    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

I'm  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  stand  in  the  way 
of  my  poor  stepson  getting  a  better  wife  than  he 
deserves.  And  if  the  woman  chooses  to  throw  her- 
self away  on  him,  that's  not  my  affair.  What  I 
scent  danger  in  is  that  your  stepniece  would  find  my 
stepson  out.  At  present  she's  smitten  by  his  fancy 
waistcoat.  But  she  would  soon  see  through  the 
fancy  waistcoat  —  and  then  there  would  be  a  scandal. 
If  I  have  not  misjudged  your  stepniece,  there  would 
be  a  scandal,  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  mis- 
judged her.  She  is  exactly  the  sort  of  young  woman 
who,  when  she  had  discovered  she  had  made  a  mis- 
take, would  walk  straight  out  of  the  house." 

"She  is!"  James  agreed  with  simple  heartiness 
of  conviction. 

"  And  Emanuel,  having  no  sense  of  humour, 
would  leave  nothing  undone  to  force  her  back  again. 
Imagine  the  scandal,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw!  Imagine 
my  position;  imagine  yours!  Me,  in  an  affair  like 
that !  I  won't  have  it  —  that  is  to  say,  I  won't  have 
it  if  I  can  stop  it.  Now,  what  can  we  do?  " 

Despite  the  horror  of  the  situation,  he  had  suffi- 
cient loose,  unemployed  sentiment  (left  over  from 
pitying  himself)  to  be  rather  pleased  by  her  man- 
ner of  putting  it:  What  can  we  do? 


ANOTHER  CALL  107 

But  he  kept  this  pleasure  to  himself. 

"  Nowt!  "  he  said,  drily. 

He  spoke  to  her  as  one  sensible  person  speaks  to 
another  sensible  person  in  the  Five  Towns.  As- 
suredly she  was  a  very  sensible  person.  He  had  in 
past  years  credited,  or  discredited,  her  with  "  airs." 
But  here  she  was  declaring  that  Helen  was  too  good 
for  her  stepson.  If  his  pride  had  momentarily  suf- 
fered, through  a  misconception,  it  was  now  in  the 
full  vigour  of  its  strength. 

"You  think  we  can  do  nothing?"  she  said,  re- 
flectively, and  leant  forward  on  her  chair  towards 
him,  as  if  struck  by  his  oracular  wisdom. 

"  What  can  us  do?" 

"You  might  praise  Emanuel  to  her  —  urge  her 
on."  She  fixed  him  with  her  eye. 

Sensible  ?  She  was  prodigious.  She  was  the  ser- 
pent of  serpents. 

He  took  her  gaze  twinkling.  "Ay!"  he  said. 
"  I  might.  But  if  I'm  to  urge  her  on,  why  didna' 
ye  ask  her  to  your  house  like,  and  chuck  'em  at  each 
other?" 

She  nodded  several  times,  impressed  by  this  argu- 
ment. "  You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,"  she 
admitted. 


io8    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  It's  a  dangerous  game,"  he  warned  her. 

She  put  her  lips  together  in  meditation,  and  stared 
into  a  corner. 

"  I  must  think  it  over  " —  she  emerged  from  her 
reflections.  "  I  feel  much  easier  now  I've  told  you 
all  about  it.  And  I  feel  sure  that  two  common- 
sense,  middle-aged  people  like  you  and  me  can  man- 
age to  do  what  we  want.  Dear  me !  How  annoy- 
ing stepsons  are!  Obviously,  Emanuel  ought  to 
marry  another  fool.  And  goodness  knows  there  are 
plenty  to  choose  from.  And  yet  he  must  needs  go 
and  fall  in  love  with  almost  the  only  sensible  girl  in 
the  town !  There's  no  end  to  that  boy's  foolishness. 
He  actually  wants  me  to  buy  Wilbraham  Hall,  fur- 
niture, and  everything!  What  do  you  think  it's 
worth,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  ?  " 

11  Worth?     It's  worth  what  it'll  fetch." 

"Eight  thousand?" 

"  Th'  land's  worth  that,"  said  James. 

"  It's  a  silly  idea.  But  he  put  it  into  my  head. 
Now  will  you  drop  in  one  day  and  see  me?  " 

"  No,"  said  James.  "  I'm  not  much  for  tea-par- 
ties, thank  ye." 

"  I  mean  when  I'm  alone,"  she  pleaded,  delight- 
fully; "  so  that  we  can  talk  over  things,  and  you  can 
tell  me  what  is  going  on." 


ANOTHER  CALL  109 

He  saw  clearly  all  the  perils  of  such  a  course,  but 
his  instinct  seized  him  again. 

"  Happen  I  may  look  in  some  morning  when  I'm 
round  yonder." 

"  That  will  be  very  nice  of  you,"  she  flattered  him, 
and  rose. 

Helen  came  home  about  ten  o'clock,  and  went  di- 
rect to  bed.  Never  before  had  James  Ollerenshaw 
felt  like  a  criminal,  but  as  Helen's  eyes  dwelt  for 
a  moment  on  his  in  bidding  Rim  good-night,  he  could 
scarcely  restrain  the  blush  of  the  evildoer.  And  him 
sixty!  Turn  which  way  he  would  he  saw  nothing 
but  worry.  What  an  incredible  day  he  had  lived 
through!  And  how  astounding  was  human  exist- 
ence! 


CHAPTER    XII 

BREAKFAST 

HE  had  an  unsatisfactory  night  —  that  is  to  say, 
in  the  matter  of  sleep.  In  respect  of  sagacity  he 
rose  richer  than  he  had  lain  down.  He  had  clearly 
perceived,  about  three  a.m.,  that  he  was  moving  too 
much  in  circles  which  were  foreign  to  him,  and 
which  called  him  "  Jimmy."  And  at  five  a.m., 
when  the  first  workmen's  car  woke  bumpily  the  echoes 
of  the  morn,  he  had  perceived  that  Mrs.  Prockter's 
plan  for  separating  Emanuel  and  Helen  by  bringing 
them  together  was  not  a  wise  plan.  Of  course, 
Helen  must  not  marry  Emanuel  Prockter.  The 
notion  of  such  a  union  was  ludicrous.  (In  spite  of 
all  the  worry  she  was  heaping  upon  him,  he  did  not 
see  any  urgent  reason  why  she  should  marry  any- 
body.) But  the  proper  method  of  nipping  the 
orange-blossom  in  the  bud  was  certainly  to  have  a 
plain  chat  with  Helen,  one  of  those  plain  chats  which 
can  only  occur,  successfully,  between  plain,  common- 
sense  persons.  He  was  convinced  that,  notwith- 
standing Mrs.  Prockter's  fears,  Helen  had  not  for  an 
no 


BREAKFAST  in 

instant  thought  of  Emanuel  as  a  husband.  It  was 
inconceivable  that  she,  a  girl  so  utterly  sensible,  should 
have  done  so.  And  yet —  girls !  And  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter  was  no  fool,  come  to  think  of  it.  A  sterling  crea- 
ture. Not  of  his  world,  but  nevertheless —  At 
this  point  he  uneasily  dozed. 

However,  he  determined  to  talk  with  Helen  that 
morning  at  breakfast.  He  descended  at  half-past 
seven,  as  usual,  full  of  a  diplomatic  intention  to  talk 
to  Helen,  She  was  wholly  sensible;  she  was  a  per- 
son to  whom  you  could  talk.  Still,  tact  would  be 
needed.  Lack  of  sleep  had  rendered  his  nervous 
system  such  that  he  would  have  preferred  to  receive 
tact  rather  than  to  give  it.  But,  happily,  he  was 
a  self-controlled  man. 

His  post,  which  lay  scattered  on  the  tiles  at  the 
foot  of  the  front  door,  did  not  interest  him.  He  put 
it  aside,  in  its  basket.  Nor  could  he  work,  accord- 
ing to  his  custom,  at  his  accounts.  Even  the  sigh 
of  the  unfilled-in  credit-slips  for  the  bank  did  not  spur 
him  to  industry.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  was 
upset. 

He  walked  across  the  room  to  the  piles  of  Helen's 
books  against  the  wall,  and  in  sheer  absence  of  mind 
picked  one  up,  and  sat  on  a  chair,  on  which  he  had 
never  before  sat,  and  began  to  read  the  volume. 


ii2    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

Then  the  hurried,  pretentious  striking  of  the 
kitchen  clock  startled  him.  Half-an-hour  had  passed 
in  a  moment.  He  peeped  into  the  kitchen.  Not  a 
sign  of  breakfast!  Not  a  sign  of  the  new  servant, 
with  her  starched  frills!  And  for  thirty  years  he 
had  breakfasted  at  eight  o'clock  precisely. 

And  no  Helen!  Was  Helen  laughing  at  him? 
Was  Helen  treating  him  as  an  individual  of  no  im- 
portance? It  was  unimaginable  that  his  breakfast 
should  be  late.  If  anybody  thought  that  he  was 
going  to  —  No !  he  must  not  give  way  to  righteous 
resentment.  Diplomacy!  Tact!  Forbearance! 

But  he  would  just  go  up  to  Helen's  room  and 
rap,  and  tell  her  of  the  amazing  and  awful  state  of 
things  on  the  ground-floor.  As  a  fact,  she  herself 
was  late.  At  that  moment  she  appeared. 

"  Good-morning,  uncle." 

She  was  cold,  prim,  cut  off  like  China  from  human 
intercourse  by  a  wall. 

"  Th'  servant  has  na'  come,"  said  he,  straining 
to  be  tolerant  and  amicable.  He  did  his  best  to 
keep  a  grieved  astonishment  out  of  his  voice ;  but  he 
could  not. 

"  Oh !  "  she  murmured,  calmly.  It  was  nothing 
to  her,  then,  that  James's  life  should  be  turned  up- 
side down!  And  she  added,  with  icy  detachment: 


BREAKFAST  113 

"  I'm  not  surprised.  You'll  never  get  servants  to 
be  prompt  in  the  morning  when  they  don't  sleep  in 
the  house.  And  there's  no  room  for  Georgiana  to 
sleep  in  the  house." 

Georgiana!     Preposterous  name! 

"  Mrs.  Butt  was  always  prompt.  I'll  say  that  for 
her,"  he  replied. 

This,  as  he  immediately  recognised,  was  a  failure 
in  tact  on  his  part.  So  when  she  said  quickly :  "  I'm 
sure  Mrs.  Butt  would  be  delighted  to  come  back  if 
you  asked  her,"  he  said  nothing. 

What  staggered  his  intellect  and  his  knowledge  of 
human  nature  was  that  she  remained  absolutely  un- 
moved by  this  appalling,  unprecedented,  and  complete 
absence  of  any  sign  of  breakfast  at  after  eight  o'clotk. 

Just  then  Georgiana  came.  She  had  a  key  to  the 
back  door,  and  entered  the  house  by  way  of  the 
scullery. 

"  Good-morning,  Georgiana,"  Helen  greeted  her, 
going  into  the  scullery  —  much  more  kindly  than  she 
had  greeted  her  uncle.  Instead  of  falling  on  Georgi- 
ana and  slaying  her,  she  practically  embraced  her. 

A  gas  cooking-stove  is  a  wondrous  gift  of  Heaven. 
You  do  not  have  to  light  it  with  yesterday's  paper, 
damp  wood,  and  the  remains  of  last  night's  fire. 
In  twelve  minutes  not  merely  was  the  breakfast  ready, 


ii4    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

but  the  kitchen  was  dusted,  and  there  was  a  rose  in 
a  glass  next  to  the  bacon.  James  had  calmed  him- 
self by  reading  the  book,  and  the  period  of  waiting 
had  really  been  very  short.  As  he  fronted  the  bacon 
and  the  flower,  Helen  carefully  shut  the  scullery 
door.  The  Manchester  Guardian  lay  to  the  left  of 
his  plate.  Thoughtful!  Altogether  it  was  not  so 
bad. 

Further,  she  smiled  in  handing  him  his  tea.  She, 
too,  he  observed,  must  have  slept  ill.  Her  agree- 
able face  was  drawn.  But  her  blue-and-white-striped 
dress  was  impeccably  put  on.  It  was  severe,  and  yet 
very  smooth.  It  suited  her  mood.  It  also  suited 
his.  They  faced  each  other,  as  self-controlled  peo- 
ple do  face  each  other  at  breakfast  after  white  nights, 
disillusioned,  tremendously  sensible,  wise,  gently  cyn- 
ical, seeing  the  world  with  steady  and  just  orbs. 

"  I've  been  reading  one  o'  your  books,  lass,"  he 
began,  with  superb  amiability.  "  It's  pretty  near  as 
good  as  a  newspaper.  There's  summat  about  a  law 
case  as  goes  on  for  ever.  It  isna'  true,  I  suppose, 
but  it  might  be.  The  man  as  wrote  that  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about  for  once  in  a  way.  It's  rare 
and  good." 

"  You  mean  Jarndyce  v.  Jarndyce?  "  she  said,  with 
a  smile  —  not  one  of  her  condescending  smiles. 


BREAKFAST  115 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  that  is  the  name.  How 
didst  know,  lass  ?  " 

"  I  just  guessed,"  she  answered.  "  I  suppose  you 
don't  have  much  time  for  reading,  uncle  ?  " 

"Not  me!"  said  he.  "I'm  one  o'  th'  busiest 
men  in  Bosley.  And  if  ye  don't  know  it  now,  you 
will  afore  long." 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  "  I've  noticed  that.  But  what 
can  you  expect?  With  all  those  rents  to  collect  your- 
self! Of  course,  I  think  you're  quite  right  to  collect 
them  yourself.  Rent-collectors  can  soon  ruin  a  prop- 
erty." Her  tone  was  exceedingly  sympathetic  and 
comprehending.  He  was  both  surprised  and  pleased 
by  it.  He  had  misjudged  her  mood.  It  was  cer- 
tainly comfortable  to  have  a  young  woman  in  the 
house  who  understood  things  as  she  did. 

"  Ye're  right,  lass,"  he  said.  "  It's  small  houses 
as  mean  trouble.  You're  never  done  —  wi'  cottage 
property.  Always  summat !  " 

"  It's  all  small,  isn't  it?  "  she  went  on.  "  About 
how  much  do  the  rents  average?  Three-and-six  a 
week?" 

"  About  that,"  he  said.     She  was  a  shrewd  guesser. 

"  I  can't  imagine  how  you  carry  the  money 
about,"  she  exclaimed.  "  It  must  be  very  heavy  for 
you." 


ii6    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  he  explained.  "  I've  got  my  own 
system  o'  collecting.  If  I  hadn't,  I  couldna'  get 
through.  In  each  street  I've  one  tenant  as  I  trust. 
And  the  other  tenants  can  leave  their  rent  and  their 
rent  books  there.  When  they  do  that  regular  for  a 
month,  I  give  'em  twopence  apiece  for  their  children. 
If  they  do  it  regular  for  a  year,  I  mak'  'em  a'  pres- 
ent of  a  wik's  rent  at  Christmas.  It's  cheaper  nor 
rent-collectors." 

"  What  a  good  idea !  "  she  said,  impressed.  "  But 
how  do  you  carry  the  money  about?  " 

"  I  bank  i'  Bosley,  and  I  bank  i'  Turnhill,  too. 
And  I  bank  once  i'  Bosley  and  twice  i'  Turnhill  o' 
Mondays,  and  twice  i'  Bosley  o'  Tuesdays.  Only 
yesterday  I  was  behind.  I  reckon  as  I  can  do  all  my 
collecting  between  nine  o'clock  Monday  and  noon 
Tuesday.  I  go  to  th'  worst  tenants  first  —  be  sure  o' 
that.  There's  some  o'  'em,  if  you  don't  catch  'em 
early  o'  Monday,  you  don't  catch  'em  at  all." 

"  It's  incredible  to  me  how  you  can  do  it  all  in 
a  day  and  a  half,"  she  pursued.  "  Why,  how  many 
houses  are  there  ?  " 

"  Near  two  hundred  and  forty  i'  Bosley,"  he  re- 
sponded. "  Hast  forgotten  th'  sugar  this  time, 
lass?" 

"And  in  Turnhill?"  she  said,  passing  the  sugar. 


BREAKFAST  117 

"  I  think  I'll  have  that  piece  of  bacon  if  you  don't 
want  it." 

"  Over  a  hundred,"  said  he.  "  A  hundred  and 
twenty." 

"  So  that,  first  and  last,  you  have  to  handle  about 
sixty  pounds  each  week,  and  all  in  silver  and  copper. 
Fancy !  What  a  weight  it  must  be  1  " 

"  Ay !  "  he  said,  but  with  less  enthusiasm. 

"  That's  three  thousand  a-year,"  she  continued. 

Her  tone  was  still  innocuously  sympathetic.  She 
seemed  to  be  talking  of  money  as  she  might  have 
talked  of  counters.  Nevertheless,  he  felt  that  he 
had  been  entrapped. 

"  I  expect  you  must  have  saved  at  the  very  least 
thirty  thousand  pounds  by  this  time,"  she  reflected, 
judicially,  disinterestedly  —  speaking  as  a  lawyer 
might  have  spoken. 

He  offered  no  remark. 

"  That  means  another  thirty  pounds  a  week,"  she 
resumed.  Decidedly  she  was  marvellous  at  sums  of 
interest. 

He  persisted  in  offering  no  remark. 

"  By  the  way,"  she  said,  "  I  must  look  into  my 
household  accounts.  How  much  did  you  tell  me 
you  allowed  Mrs.  Butt  a  week  for  expenses?  " 

"  A  pound,"  he  replied,  shortly. 


ii8    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

She  made  no  comment.  "  You  don't  own  the 
house,  do  you?  "  she  inquired. 

"  No,"  he  said. 

"What's  the  rent?" 

"  Eighteen  pounds,"  he  said.  Reluctant  is  a  word 
that  inadequately  describes  his  attitude. 

"  The  worst  of  this  house  is  that  it  has  no  bath- 
room," she  remarked.  "  Still,  eighteen  pounds  a 
year  is  eighteen  pounds  a  year." 

Her  tone  was  faultless,  in  its  innocent,  sympathetic 
common  sense.  The  truth  was,  it  was  too  faultless; 
it  rendered  James  furious  with  a  fury  that  was  dan- 
gerous, because  it  had  to  be  suppressed. 

Then  suddenly  she  left  the  table. 

"  The  Kiel  butter  at  a  shilling  a  pound  is  quite 
good  enough,  Georgiana,"  he  heard  her  exhorting 
the  servant  in  the  scullery. 

Ten  minutes  later,  she  put  ten  sovereigns  in  front 
of  him. 

"  There's  that  ten-pound  note,"  she  said,  politely 
(but  not  quite  accurately) .  "  I've  got  enough  of  my 
own  to  get  on  with." 

She  fled  ere  he  could  reply. 

And  not  a  word  had  he  contrived  to  say  to  her 
concerning  Emanuel. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE   WORLD 

A  FEW  days  later  James  Ollerenshaw  was  alone  in 
the  front  room,  checking  various  accounts  for  repairs 
of  property  in  Turnhill,  when  twin  letters  fell  into 
the  quietude  of  the  apartment.  The  postman  —  the 
famous  old  postman  of  Bursley,  who  on  fine  summer 
days  surmounted  the  acute  difficulty  of  tender  feet 
by  delivering  mails  in  worsted  slippers  —  had  swiftly 
pushed  the  letters,  as  usual,  through  the  slit  in  the 
door;  but,  nevertheless,  their  advent  had  somehow 
the  air  of  magic,  as,  indeed,  the  advent  of  letters 
always  had.  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  glanced  curiously 
from  his  chair,  over  his  spectacles,  at  the  letters  as 
they  lay  dead  on  the  floor.  Their  singular  appear- 
ance caused  him  to  rise  at  once  and  pick  them  up. 
They  were  sealed  with  a  green  seal,  and  addressed 
in  a  large  and  haughty  hand  —  one  to  Helen  and  the 
other  to  himself.  Obviously  they  came  from  the 
world  which  referred  to  him  as  "  Jimmy."  He  was 
not  used  to  being  thrilled  by  mere  envelopes,  but 
now  he  became  conscious  of  a  slight  quickening  of 
119 


120    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

pulsation.  He  opened  his  own  envelope  —  the  paper 
was  more  like  a  blanket  than  paper,  and  might  have 
been  made  from  the  material  of  a  child's  untearable 
picture-book.  He  had  to  use  a  stout  paper-knife,  and 
when  he  did  get  into  the  envelope  he  felt  like  a 
burglar. 

The  discerning  and  shrewd  ancient  had  guessed 
the  contents.  He  had  feared,  and  he  had  also  hoped, 
that  the  contents  would  comprise  an  invitation  to 
Mrs.  Prockter's  house  at  Hillport.  They  did;  and 
more  than  that.  The  signature  was  Mrs.  Prockter's, 
and  she  had  written  him  a  four-page  letter.  "  My 
dear  Mr.  Ollerenshaw."  "  Believe  me,  yours  most 
cordially  and  sincerely,  Flora  Prockter." 

Flora ! 

The  strangest  thing,  perhaps,  in  all  this  strange 
history  is  that  he  thought  the  name  suited  her. 

He  had  no  intention  of  accepting  the  invitation. 
Not  exactly!  But  he  enjoyed  receiving  it.  It  con- 
stituted a  unique  event  in  his  career.  And  the  word- 
ing of  it  was  very  agreeable.  Mrs.  Prockter  pro- 
ceeded thus:  "In  pursuance  of  our  plan" — our 
plan !  — "  I  am  also  inviting  your  niece.  Indeed,  I 
have  gathered  from  Emanuel  that  he  considers  her 
as  the  prime  justification  of  the  party.  We  will 
throw  them  together.  She  will  hear  him  sing.  She 


THE  WORLD  121 

has  never  heard  him  sing.  If  this  does  not  cure 
her,  nothing  will,  though  he  has  a  nice  voice.  I 
hope  it  will  be  a  fine  night,  so  that  we  may  take  the 
garden.  I  did  not  thank  you  half  enough  for  the 
exceedingly  kind  way  in  which  you  received  my  really 
unpardonable  visit  the  other  evening,"  etc. 

James  had  once  heard  Emanuel  Prockter  sing,  at 
a  concert  given  in  aid  of  something  which  deserved 
every  discouragement,  and  he  agreed  with  Mrs. 
Prockter;  not  that  he  pretended  to  know  anything 
about  singing. 

He  sat  down  again,  to  compose  a  refusal  to  the 
invitation;  but  before  he  had  written  more  than  a 
few  words  it  had  transformed  itself  into  an  accept- 
ance. He  was  aware  of  the  entire  ridiculousness  of 
his  going  to  an  evening  party  at  Mrs.  Prockter's; 
still,  an  instinct,  powerful  but  obscure  (it  was  the 
will-to-live  and  naught  else),  persuaded  him  by  force 
to  say  that  he  would  go. 

"  Have  you  had  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter?" Helen  asked  him  at  tea. 

"Yes,"  said  he.     "Have  you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  she.     "  Shall  you  go?  " 

"  Ay,  lass,  I  shall  go." 

She  seemed  greatly   surprised. 

"  Us'll  go  together,"  he  said. 


122    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  I  don't  think  that  I  shall  go,"  said  she,  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"  Have  yc  written  to  refuse?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  should  advise  yc  to  go,  my  lass." 

"Why?" 

"  Unless  ye  want  to  have  trouble  with  me,"  said 
he,  grimly. 

"  But,  uncle  — " 

"  It's  no  good  butting  uncle,"  he  replied.  "  If  ye 
did  na'  mean  to  go,  why  did  ye  give  young  Prockter 
to  understand  as  ye  would  go?  I'll  tell  ye  why  ye 
changed  your  mind,  lass.  It's  because  you're 
ashamed  o'  being  seen  there  with  yer  old  uncle,  and 
I'm  sorry  for  it." 

"  Uncle !  "  she  protested.  "  How  can  you  say 
such  a  thing  ?  You  ought  to  know  that  no  such  idea 
ever  entered  my  head." 

He  did  know  that  no  such  idea  had  ever  entered 
her  head,  and  he  was  secretly  puzzling  for  the  real 
reason  of  her  projected  refusal.  But,  being  deter- 
mined that  she  should  go,  he  had  employed  the  surest 
and  the  least  scrupulous  means  of  achieving  his 
end. 

He  tapped  nervously  on  the  table,  and  maintained 
the  silence  of  the  wounded  and  the  proud. 


THE  WORLD  123 

"  Of  course,  if  you  take  it  in  that  way,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause,  "  I  will  go." 

And  he  went  through  the  comedy  of  gradually  re- 
covering from  a  wound. 

His  boldness  in  accepting  the  invitation  and  in  com- 
pelling Helen  to  accompany  him  was  the  audacity 
of  sheer  ignorance.  He  had  not  surmised  the  ex- 
periences which  lay  before  him.  She  told  him  to 
order  a  cab.  She  did  not  suggest  the  advisability 
of  a  cab.  She  stated,  as  a  platitude,  the  absolute  in- 
dispensability  of  a  cab.  He  had  meant  to  ride  to 
Hillport  in  the  tramcar,  which  ran  past  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter's  gates.  However,  he  reluctantly  agreed  to  order 
a  cab,  being  fearful  lest  she  might,  after  all,  refuse 
to  go.  It  was  remarkable  that,  after  having  been 
opposed  to  the  policy  of  throwing  Helen  and  Emanuel 
together,  he  was  now  in  favour  of  it. 

On  the  evening,  when  at  five  minutes  past  nine 
she  came  into  the  front  room  clad  for  Mrs.  Prockter's 
party,  he  perceived  that  the  tramcar  would  have  been 
unsuitable.  A  cab  might  hold  her.  A  hansom  would 
certainly  not  have  held  her.  She  was  all  in  white, 
and  very  complicated.  No  hat;  simply  a  white, 
silver-spangled  bandage  round  her  head,  neck,  and 
shoulders !  She  glanced  at  him.  He  wore  his  best 
black  clothes.  "You  look  very  well,"  said  she, 


124    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

surprisingly.     "That  old-fashioned  black  necktie  is 
splendid." 

So  they  went.  James  had  the  peculiar  illusion 
that  he  was  going  to  a  belated  funeral,  for  except  at 
funerals  he  had  never  in  his  life  ridden  in  a  cab. 

When  he  descended  with  his  fragile  charge  in 
Mrs.  Prockter's  illuminated  porch,  another  cab  was 
just  ploughing  up  the  gravel  of  the  drive  in  de- 
parture, and  nearly  the  whole  tribe  of  Swetnams 
was  on  the  doorstep;  some  had  walked,  and  were 
boasting  of  speed.  There  were  Sarah  Swetnam,  her 
brother  Ted,  the  lawyer,  her  brother  Ronald,  the 
borough  surveyor,  her  brother  Adams,  the  bank 
cashier,  and  her  sister  Enid,  aged  seventeen.  This 
child  was  always  called  "  Jos  "  by  the  family,  be- 
cause they  hated  the  name  "  Enid,"  which  they  con- 
sidered to  be  "silly."  Lilian,  the  newly-affianced 
one,  was  not  in  the  crowd. 

"Where's  Lilian?"  Helen  asked,  abruptly. 

"  Oh,  she  came  earlier  with  the  powerful  Andrew," 
replied  the  youthful  and  rather  jealous  Jos.  "  She 
isn't  an  ordinary  girl  now." 

Sarah  rapidly  introduced  her  brothers  and  sister 
to  James.  They  were  all  very  respectful  and  agree- 
able; and  Adams  Swetnam  pressed  his  hand  quite 
sympathetically,  and  Jos's  frank  smile  was  delicious. 


THE  WORLD  125 

What  surprised  him  was  that  nobody  seemed  sur- 
prised at  his  being  there.  None  of  the  girls  wore 
hats,  he  noticed,  and  he  also  noticed  that  the  three 
men  (all  about  thirty  in  years)  wore  silk  hats,  white 
mufflers,  and  blue  overcoats. 

A  servant  —  a  sort  of  special  edition  of  James's 
Georgiana  —  appeared,  and  robbed  everybody  of 
every  garment  that  would  yield  easily  to  pulling. 
And  then  those  lovely  creatures  stood  revealed.  Yes, 
Sarah  herself  was  lovely  under  the  rosy  shades.  The 
young  men  were  elegantly  slim,  and  looked  very 
much  alike,  except  that  Adams  had  a  beard  —  a 
feeble  beard,  but  a  beard.  It  is  true  that  in  their 
exact  correctness  they  might  have  been  mistaken  for 
toast-masters,  or,  with  the  slight  addition  of  silver 
neck-chains,  for  high  officials  in  a  costly  restaurant. 
But  great-stepuncle  James  could  never  have  been  mis- 
taken for  anything  but  a  chip  of  the  early  nineteenth 
century  flicked  by  the  hammer  of  Fate  into  the 
twentieth.  His  wide  black  necktie  was  the  secret 
envy  of  the  Swetnam  boys. 

The  Swetnam  boys  had  the  air  of  doing  now  what 
they  did  every  night  of  their  lives.  With  facile  ease, 
they  led  the  way  through  the  long  hall  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. James  followed,  and  en  route  he  observed 
at  the  extremity  of  a  side-hall  two  young  people  sit- 


126    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

ting  with  their  hands  together  in  a  dusky  corner. 
"  Male  and  female  created  He  them !  "  reflected 
James,  with  all  the  tolerant,  disdainful  wisdom  of 
his  years  and  situation. 

A  piano  was  then  heard,  and  as  Ronald  Swetnam 
pushed  open  the  drawing-room  door  for  the  women 
to  enter,  there  came  the  sound  of  a  shocked  "  S-sh !  " 

Whereupon  the  invaders  took  to  the  tips  of  their 
toes  and  crept  in  as  sinners.  At  the  farther  end  a 
girl  was  sitting  at  a  grand  piano,  and  in  front  of 
the  piano,  glorious,  effulgent,  monarchical,  stood 
Emanuel  Prockter,  holding  a  piece  of  music  horizon- 
tally at  the  level  of  his  waist.  He  had  a  white  flower 
in  his  buttonhole,  and,  adhering  to  a  quaint  old  cus- 
tom which  still  lingers  in  the  Five  Towns,  and  pos- 
sibly elsewhere,  he  showed  a  crimson  silk  handker- 
chief tucked  in  between  his  shirt-front  and  his  white 
waistcoat.  He  had  broad  bands  down  the  sides  of 
his  trousers.  Not  a  hair  of  his  head  had  been 
touched  by  the  accidental  winds  of  circumstance.  He 
surveyed  the  couple  of  dozen  people  in  the  large, 
glowing  room  with  a  fixed  smile  and  gesture  of  benev- 
olent congratulation. 

Mrs.  Prockter  was  close  to  the  door.  "  Emanuel 
is  just  going  to  sing,"  she  whispered,  and  shook  hands 
silently  with  James  Ollerenshaw  first. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SONG,  SCENE  AND  DANCE 

EVERY  head  was  turned.  Emanuel  coughed, 
frowned,  and  put  his  left  hand  between  his  collar 
and  his  neck,  as  though  he  had  concealed  something 
there.  The  new  arrivals  slipped  cautiously  into 
chairs.  James  was  between  Helen  and  Jos.  And 
he  distinctly  saw  Jos  wink  at  Helen,  and  Helen  wink 
back.  The  winks  were  without  doubt  an  expression 
of  sentiments  aroused  by  the  solemnity  of  Emanuel's 
frown. 

The  piano  tinkled  on,  and  then  Emanuel's  face  was 
observed  to  change.  The  frown  vanished,  and  a 
smile  of  heavenly  rapture  took  its  place.  His  mouth 
gradually  opened  till  its  resemblance  to  the  penulti- 
mate vowel  was  quite  realistic,  and  simultaneously,  by 
a  curious  muscular  co-ordination,  he  rose  on  his  toes 
to  a  considerable  height  in  the  air. 

The  strain  was  terrible  —  like  waiting  for  a  gun 
to  go  off.  James  was  conscious  of  a  strange  vibra- 
tion by  his  side,  and  saw  that  Jos  Swetnam  had  got 
the  whole  of  a  lace  handkerchief  into  her  mouth. 

127 


128    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

The  gun  went  off  —  not  with  a  loud  report,  but 
with  a  gentle  and  lofty  tenor  piping,  somewhere  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  F,  or  it  might  have  been  only 
E  (though,  indeed,  a  photograph  would  have  sug- 
gested that  Emanuel  was  singing  at  lowest  the  upper 
C),  and  the  performer  slowly  resumed  his  normal 
stature. 

"  O  Love !  "  he  had  exclaimed,  adagio  and  soste- 
nuto. 

Then  the  piano,  in  its  fashion,  also  said:  "O 
Love!" 

"  O  Love !  "  Emanuel  exclaimed  again,  with  slight 
traces  of  excitement,  and  rising  to  heights  of  stature 
hitherto  undreamt  of. 

And  the  piano  once  more,  in  turn,  called  plaintively 
on  love. 

It  would  be  too  easy  to  mock  Emanuel's  gift  of 
song.  I  leave  that  to  people  named  Swetnam. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  Emanuel  had  a  very  taking 
voice,  if  thin,  and  that  his  singing  gave  pleasure  to 
the  majority  of  his  hearers.  More  than  any  one 
else,  it  pleased  himself.  When  he  sang  he  seemed 
to  be  inspired  by  the  fact,  to  him  patent,  that  he  was 
conferring  on  mankind  a  boon  inconceivably  pre- 
cious. If  he  looked  a  fool,  his  looks  seriously  mis- 
interpreted his  feelings.  He  did  not  spare  himself 


SONG,  SCENE  AND  DANCE         129 

on  that  evening.  He  told  his  stepmother's  guests 
all  about  love  and  all  about  his  own  yearnings.  He 
hid  nothing  from  them.  He  made  no  secret  of  the 
fact  that  he  lived  for  love  alone,  that  he  had  known 
innumerable  loves,  but  none  like  one  particular  vari- 
ety, which  he  described  in  full  detail.  As  a  confes- 
sion, and  especially  as  a  confession  uttered  before 
many  maidens,  it  did  not  err  on  the  side  of  reticence. 
Presently,  having  described  a  kind  of  amorous  circle, 
he  came  again  to:  "  O  Love!  " 

But  this  time  his  voice  cracked:  which  made  him 
angry,  with  a  stern  and  controlled  anger.  Still  sing- 
ing, he  turned  slowly  to  the  pianist,  and  fiercely 
glared  at  the  pianist's  unconscious  back.  The  obvious 
inference  was  that  if  his  voice  had  cracked  the  fault 
was  the  pianist's.  The  pianist,  poor  thing,  utterly 
unaware  of  the  castigation  she  was  receiving,  stuck 
to  her  business.  Less  than  a  minute  later,  Emanuel's 
voice  cracked  again.  This  time  he  turned  even  more 
deliberately  to  the  pianist.  He  was  pained.  He 
stared  during  five  complete  bars  at  the  back  of  the 
pianist,  still  continuing  his  confession.  He  wished 
the  audience  to  understand  clearly  where  the  blame 
lay.  Finally,  when  he  thought  the  pianist's  back 
was  sufficiently  cooked,  he  faced  the  audience. 

"  I   hope   the  pianist  will  not  be  so  atrociously 


130    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

clumsy  as  to  let  my  voice  crack  again,"  he  seemed  to 
be  saying. 

Evidently  his  reproof  to  the  pianist's  back  was 
effectual,  for  his  voice  did  not  crack  again. 

And  at  length,  when  Jos  had  communicated  her 
vibration  to  all  her  family,  and  every  one  had  ceased 
to  believe  that  the  confession  would  ever  end,  the 
confession  did  end.  It  ended  as  it  had  begun,  in  an 
even,  agreeable  tenor  piping.  Emanuel  was  much 
too  great  an  artist  to  allow  himself  to  be  carried 
away  by  his  emotion.  The  concluding  words  were, 
"  Oh,  rapture!  "  and  Emanuel  sang  them  just  as  if 
he  had  been  singing  "  One-and-eleven-pence  three- 
farthings." 

"  Oh,  rats !  "  said  Jos,  under  cover  of  the  impas- 
sioned applause. 

"  It  was  nearly  as  long  as  Jarndyce  v.  Jarndyce," 
observed  Adams,  under  the  same  cover. 

"What!"  cried  James,  enchanted.  "Have  you 
been  reading  that  too?  " 

Adams  Swetnam  and  great-stepuncle  James  had 
quite  a  little  chat  on  the  subject  of  Jarndyce  v.  Jarn- 
dyce. Several  other  people,  including  the  hostess, 
joined  in  the  conversation,  and  James  was  surprised 
at  the  renown  which  Jarndyce  v.  Jarndyce  seemed  to 
enjoy;  he  was  glad  to  find  his  view  shared  on  every 


SONG,  SCENE  AND  DANCE         131 

hand.  He  was  also  glad,  and  startled,  to  discover 
himself  a  personality  in  the  regions  of  Hillport.  He 
went  through  more  formal  introductions  in  ten  min- 
utes than  he  had  been  through  during  the  whole  of 
his  previous  life.  It  was  a  hot  evening;  he  wiped 
his  brow.  Then  iced  champagne  was  served  to  him. 
Having  fluttered  round  him,  in  her  ample  way,  and 
charmingly  flattered  him,  Mrs.  Prockter  left  him, 
encircled  chiefly  by  young  women,  in  order  to  convey 
to  later  arrivals  that  they,  and  they  alone,  were  the 
authentic  objects  of  her  solicitude.  Emanuel  Prock- 
ter, clad  in  triumph,  approached,  and  questioned 
James,  as  one  shrewd  man  of  business  may  question 
another,  concerning  the  value  in  the  market  of  Wil- 
braham  Hall. 

Shortly  afterwards  a  remarkable  occurrence  added 
zest  to  the  party.  Helen  had  wandered  away  with 
Sarah  and  Jos  Swetnam.  She  re-entered  the  draw- 
ing-room while  James  and  Emanuel  were  in  discus- 
sion, and  her  attitude  towards  Emanuel  was  decidedly 
not  sympathetic.  Then  Sarah  Swetnam  came  in 
alone.  And  then  Andrew  Dean  came  in  alone. 

"Oh,  here's  Andrew,  Helen!"  Sarah  exclaimed. 

Andrew  Dean  had  the  air  of  a  formidable  person- 
age. He  was  a  tall,  heavy,  dark  young  man,  with 
immense  sloping  shoulders,  a  black  moustache,  and 


'132     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

incandescent  eyes,  which  he  used  as  though  he  were 
somewhat  suspicious  of  the  world  in  general.  If  his 
dress  had  been  less  untidy,  he  would  have  made  a 
perfect  villain  of  melodrama.  He  smiled  the  unsure 
smile  of  a  villain  as  he  awkwardly  advanced,  with 
outstretched  hand,  to  Helen. 

Helen  put  her  lips  together,  kept  her  hands  well 
out  of  view,  and  offered  him  a  bow  that  could  only 
have  been  properly  appreciated  under  a  microscope. 

The  episode  was  quite  negative;  but  it  amounted 
to  a  scene  —  a  scene  at  one  of  Mrs.  Prockter's  par- 
ties! A  scene,  moreover,  that  mystified  everybody; 
a  scene  that  implied  war  and  the  wounded! 

Some  discreetly  withdrew.  Of  these  was  Eman- 
uel,  who  had  the  sensitiveness  of  an  artist. 

Andrew  Dean  presently  perceived,  after  standing 
for  some  seconds  like  an  imbecile  stork  on  one  leg, 
that  the  discretion  of  the  others  was  worthy  to  be 
imitated.  At  the  door  he  met  Lilian,  and  they  dis- 
appeared together  arm  in  arm,  as  betrothed  lovers 
should.  Three  people  remained  in  that  quarter  of 
the  drawing-room  —  Helen,  her  uncle,  and  Sarah 
Swetnam. 

"Why,  Nell,"  said  Sarah,  aghast,  "what's  the 
matter?" 


SONG,  SCENE  AND  DANCE         133 

"  Nothing,"  said  Helen,  calmly. 

"  But  surely  you  shake  hands  with  Andrew  when 
you  meet  him,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  That  depends  how  I  feel,  my  dear,"  said  Helen. 

"  Then  something  is  the  matter?  " 

"  If  you  want  to  know,"  said  Helen,  with  haughti- 
ness, "  in  the  hall,  just  now  —  that  is  —  I  —  I  over- 
heard Mr.  Dean  say  something  about  Emanuel 
Prockter's  singing  which  I  consider  very  improper." 

"  But  we  all  — " 

"  I'm  going  out  into  the  garden,"  said  Helen. 

"  A  pretty  how-d'ye-do ! "  James  muttered  in- 
audibly  to  himself  as  he  meandered  to  and  fro  in 
the  hall,  observing  the  manners  and  customs  of  Hill- 
port  society.  Another  couple  were  now  occupying 
the  privacy  of  the  seat  at  the  end  of  the  side-hall, 
and  James  noticed  that  the  heads  of  this  couple  had 
precisely  the  same  relative  positions  as  the  heads  of 
the  previous  couple.  "  Bless  us !  "  he  murmured, 
apropos  of  the  couple,  who,  seeing  in  him  a  spy,  rose 
and  fled.  Then  he  resumed  his  silent  soliloquy. 
"  A  pretty  how-d'ye-do !  The  chit's  as  fixed  on  that 
there  Emanuel  Prockter  as  ever  a  chit  could  be!  " 
And  yet  James  had  caught  the  winking  with  Jos 
Swetnam  during  the  song!  As  an  enigma,  Helen 


134    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

grew  darker  and  darker  to  him.  He  was  almost 
ready  to  forswear  his  former  belief,  and  to  assert 
positively  that  Helen  had  no  sense  whatever. 

Mrs.  Prockter  loomed  up,  disengaged.  "  Ah,  Mr. 
Ollerenshaw,"  she  said,  "everybody  seems  to  be 
choosing  the  garden.  Shall  we  go  there?  This 
way." 

She  led  him  down  the  side-hall.  "  By  the  bye," 
she  murmured,  with  a  smile,  "  I  think  our  plan  is 
succeeding." 

And,  without  warning  him,  she  sat  down  in  the 
seat,  and  of  course  he  joined  her,  and  she  put  her 
head  close  to  his,  evidently  in  a  confidential  mood. 

"  Bless  us !  "  he  said  to  himself,  apropos  of  him- 
self and  Mrs.  Prockter,  glancing  about  for  spies. 

"  It's  horrid  of  me  to  make  fun  of  poor  dear 
Emanuel's  singing,"  pursued  Mrs.  Prockter.  "  But 
how  did  she  take  it?  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  she 
winked." 

"Her  winked,"  said  James;  "yes,  her  winked." 

"  Then  everything's  all  right." 

"  Missis,"  said  he,  "  if  you  don't  mind  what  ye're 
about,  you'll  have  a  daughter-in-law  afore  you  can 
say  '  knife  ' !  " 

"Not  Helen?" 

"  Ay,  Helen." 


SONG,  SCENE  AND  DANCE         135 

"But,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw— " 

Here  happened  an  interruption  —  a  servant  with 
a  tray  of  sustenance,  comprising  more  champagne. 
James,  prudent,  would  have  refused,  but  under  the 
hospitable  urgency  of  Mrs.  Prockter  he  compromised 
—  and  yielded. 

"  I'll  join  ye." 

So  she  joined  him.  Then  a  string  of  young  peo- 
ple passed  the  end  of  the  side-hall,  and  among  them 
was  Jos  Swetnam,  who  capered  up  to  the  old  couple 
on  her  long  legs. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Prockter,"  she  cried,  "  what  a  pity  we 
can't  dance  on  the  lawn!  " 

"  I  wish  you  could,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter. 

"And  why  can't  ye?"  demanded  James. 

"  No  music!  "  said  Jos. 

"  You  see,"  Mrs.  Prockter  explained,  "  the  lawn 
is  at  the  far  end  of  the  garden,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  hear  the  piano  so  far  off.  If  it  were  only  a  little 
piano  we  could  move  it  about,  but  it's  a  grand  piano." 

In  James's  next  speech  was  to  be  felt  the  influence 
of  champagne.  "  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  it's  nobbut 
a  step  from  here  to  the  Green  Man,  is  it?  " 

"The  Green  Man!"  echoed  Mrs.  Prockter,  not 
Comprehending. 

"Ay,  the  .pub!" 


i36     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  I  believe  there  is  an  inn  at  the  bend,"  said  Mrs. 
Prockter;  "but  I  don't  think  I've  ever  noticed  the 
sign." 

"  It's  the  Green  Man,"  said  James.  "  If  you'll 
send  some  one  round  there,  and  the  respex  of  Mr. 
Ollerenshaw  to  Mr.  Benskin  —  that's  the  landlord  — 
and  will  he  lend  me  the  concertina  as  I  sold  him  last 
Martinmas?  " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw!"  shrieked  Jos.  "Can 
you  play  for  dancing?  How  perfectly  lovely  it 
would  be!" 

"  I  fancy  as  I  can  keep  your  trotters  moving, 
child,"  said  he,  gaily. 

Upon  this,  two  spinsters,  the  Misses  Webber,  wear- 
ing duplicates  of  one  anxious  visage,  supervened,  and, 
with  strange  magic  gestures,  beckoned  Mrs.  Prockter 
away.  News  of  the  episode  between  Andrew  Dean 
and  Helen  had  at  length  reached  them,  and  they  had 
deemed  it  a  sacred  duty  to  inform  the  hostess  of  the 
sad  event.  They  were  of  the  species  of  woman  that 
spares  neither  herself  nor  others.  Their  fault  was, 
that  they  were  too  compassionate  for  this  world. 
Promising  to  send  the  message  to  Mr.  Benskin,  Mrs. 
Prockter  vanished  to  her  doom. 

Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  a  fete  unique  in  the 


SONG,  SCENE  AND  DANCE         137 

annals  of  Hillport  had  organised  itself  on  the  lawn 
in  the  dim,  verdurous  retreats  behind  Mrs.  Prockter's 
house.  The  lawn  was  large  enough  to  be  just  too 
small  for  a  tennis-court.  It  was  also  of  a  pretty  mid- 
Victorian  irregularity  as  regards  shape,  and  guarded 
from  the  grim  horizons  of  the  Five  Towns  by  a  ring 
of  superb  elms.  A  dozen  couples,  mainly  youngish, 
promenaded  upon  its  impeccable  surface  in  obvious 
expectation;  while  on  the  borders,  in  rustic  chairs, 
odd  remnants  of  humanity,  mainly  oldish,  gazed  in 
ecstasy  at  the  picturesque  ensemble.  In  the  midst 
of  the  lawn  was  Mrs.  Prockter's  famous  weeping 
willow,  on  whose  branches  Chinese  lanterns  had  been 
hung  by  a  reluctant  gardener,  who  held  to  the  proper 
gardener's  axiom  that  lawns  are  made  to  be  seen 
and  not  hurt.  The  moon  aided  these  lanterns  to  the 
best  of  her  power.  Under  the  tree  was  a  cane  chair, 
and  on  the  cane  chair  sat  an  ageing  man  with  a  con- 
certina between  his  hands.  He  put  his  head  on  one 
side  and  played  a  few  bars,  and  the  couples  posed 
themselves  expectantly. 

"  Hold  on  a  bit !  "  the  virtuoso  called  out.  "  It's 
a  tidy  bit  draughty  here." 

He  put  the  concertina  on  his  knees,  fumbled  in  his 
tail-pocket,  and  drew  forth  a  tasselled  Turkish  cap, 


i38     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

which  majestically  he  assumed;  the  tassel  fell  over 
his  forehead.  He  owned  several  Turkish  caps,  and 
never  went  abroad  without  one. 

Then  he  struck  up  definitely,  and  Mrs.  Prockter's 
party  had  resolved  itself,  as  parties  often  do,  into 
a  dance.  In  the  blissful  excitation  caused  by  the 
ancient  and  jiggy  tunes  which  "  Jimmy  "  played,  the 
sad  episode  of  Helen  Rathbone  and  Andrew  Dean 
appeared  to  be  forgotten.  Helen  danced  with  every 
man  except  Andrew,  and  Andrew  danced  with  every 
woman  except  Helen.  But  Mrs.  Prockter  had  not 
forgotten  the  episode;  nor  had  the  Misses  Webber. 
The  reputation  of  Mrs.  Prockter's  entertainments 
for  utter  correctness,  and  her  own  enormous  reputa- 
tion for  fine  tact,  were  impaired,  and  Mrs.  Prockter 
was  determined  that  that  which  ought  to  happen 
should  happen. 

She  had  a  brief  and  exceedingly  banal  interview 
with  Helen,  and  another  with  Andrew.  And  an  in- 
terval having  elapsed,  Andrew  was  observed  to  ap- 
proach Helen  and  ask  her  for  a  polka.  Helen 
punctiliously  accepted.  And  he  led  her  out.  The 
outraged  gods  of  social  decorum  were  appeased,  and 
the  reputations  of  Mrs.  Prockter  and  her  parties 
stood  as  high  as  ever.  It  was  well  and  diplomatically 
done. 


SONG,  SCENE  AND  DANCE         139 

Nevertheless,  the  unforeseen  came  to  pass.  For 
at  the  end  of  the  polka  Helen  fainted  on  the  grass; 
and  not  Andrew  but  Emanuel  was  first  to  succour 
her.  It  was  a  highly-disconcerting  climax.  Of 
course,  Helen,  being  Helen,  recovered  with  singular 
rapidity.  But  that  did  not  lighten  the  mystery. 

In  the  cab,  going  home,  she  wept.  James  could 
scarcely  have  believed  it  of  her. 

"  Oh,  uncle,"  she  half  whispered,  in  a  voice  of 
grief,  "  you  fiddled  while  Rome  was  burning !  " 

This  obscure  saying  baffled  him,  the  more  so  that 
he  had  been  playing  a  concertina  and  not  a  fiddle  at 
all.  His  feelings  were  vague,  and  in  some  respects 
contradictory ;  but  he  was  convinced  that  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter's  scheme  for  separating  Helen  and  the  Apollo 
Emanuel  was  not  precisely  succeeding. 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE   GIFT 

AFTER  that  night  great-stepuncle  James  became  more 
than  a  celebrity  —  he  became  a  notoriety  in  Bursley. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  personal  influence  of  Mrs. 
Prockter  with  the  editor  of  the  Signal,  James's  ex- 
ploits upon  the  concertina  under  weeping  willows  at 
midnight  would  have  received  facetious  comment  in 
the  weekly  column  of  gossip  that  appears  in  the  great 
daily  organ  of  the  Five  Towns  on  Saturdays.  James, 
aided  by  nothing  but  a  glass  or  two  of  champagne, 
had  suddenly  stepped  into  the  forefront  of  the  town's 
life.  He  was  a  card.  He  rather  liked  being  a  card. 
But  within  his  own  heart  the  triumph  and  glory 
of  James  Ollerenshaw  were  less  splendid  than  out- 
side it.  Helen,  apparently  ashamed  of  having  wept 
into  his  waistcoat,  kept  him  off  with  a  kind  of  a 
rod  of  stiff  politeness.  He  could  not  get  near  her, 
and  for  at  least  two  reasons  he  was  anxious  to  get 
near  her.  He  wanted  to  have  that  frank,  confi- 
dential talk  with  her  about  the  general  imbecility 
of  her  adorer,  Emanuel  Prockter  —  that  talk  which 
140 


THE  GIFT  141 

he  had  failed  to  begin  on  the  morning  when  she  had 
been  so  sympathetic  concerning  his  difficulties  in  col- 
lecting a  large  income.  Her  movements  from  day! 
to  day  were  mysterious.  Facts  pointed  to  the  prob- 
ability that  she  and  Emanuel  were  seeing  each  other 
with  no  undue  publicity.  And  yet,  despite  facts, 
despite  her  behaviour  at  the  party,  he  could  scarcely 
believe  that  shrewd  Helen  had  not  pierced  the  skin 
of  Emanuel  and  perceived  the  emptiness  therein.  At 
any  rate,  Emanuel  had  not  repeated  his  visit  to  the 
house.  The  only  visitors  had  been  Sarah  Swetnam 
and  her  sister  Lilian,  the  fiancee  of  Andrew  Dean. 
The  chatter  of  the  three  girls  had  struck  James  as 
being  almost  hysterically  gay.  But  in  the  evening 
Helen  was  very  gloomy,  and  he  fancied  a  certain  red- 
ness in  her  eyes.  Though  Helen  was  assuredly  the 
last  woman  in  the  world  to  cry,  she  had,  beyond 
doubt,  cried  once,  and  he  now  suspected  her  of  an- 
other weeping. 

Even  more  detrimental  to  his  triumph  in  his  own 
heart  was  the  affair  of  the  ten-pound  note,  which  she 
had  stolen  (or  abstracted  if  you  will)  and  then  re- 
stored to  him  with  such  dramatic  haughtiness.  That 
ten  pounds  was  an  awful  trial  to  him.  It  rankled, 
not  only  with  him,  but  (he  felt  sure)  with  her.  Still, 
if  she  had  her  pride,  he  also  had  his.  He  reckoned 


i42     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

that  she  had  not  rightly  behaved  in  taking  the  note 
without  his  permission,  and  that  in  returning  the 
full  sum,  and  pretending  that  he  had  made  it  neces- 
sary for  her  to  run  the  house  on  her  own  money, 
she  had  treated  him  meanly.  The  truth  was,  she 
had  wounded  him  —  again.  Instincts  of  astounding 
generosity  were  budding  in  him,  but  he  was  deter- 
mined to  await  an  advance  from  her.  He  gave  her 
money  for  housekeeping,  within  moderation,  and 
nothing  more. 

Then  one  evening  she  announced  that  the  morrow 
would  be  her  birthday.  James  felt  uneasy.  He  had 
never  given  birthday  presents,  but  he  well  knew  that 
presents  were  the  correct  thing  on  birthdays.  He 
went  to  bed  in  a  state  of  the  most  absurd  and  cause- 
less mental  disturbance.  He  did  not  know  what  to 
do.  Whereas  it  was  enormously  obvious  what  to 
do. 

He  woke  up  about  one  o'clock,  and  reflected,  with 
an  air  of  discovery :  "  Her  tone  was  extremely 
friendly  when  she  told  me  it  was  her  birthday  to- 
morrow. She  meant  it  as  an  advance.  I  shall  take 
it  as  an  advance." 

About  half-past  one  he  said  to  himself:  "  I'll  give 
her  a  guinea  to  spend  as  she  likes."  It  did  genuinely 
seem  to  him  a  vast  sum.  A  guinea  to  fritter  awayl 


THE  GIFT  143 

However,  towards  three  o'clock  its  vastness  had 
shrunk. 

"  Dashed  if  I  don't  give  the  wench  a  fiver!  "  he 
exclaimed.  It  was  madness,  but  he  had  an  obscure 
feeling  that  he  might  have  had  more  amusement  if 
he  had  begun  being  mad  rather  earlier  in  life. 

Upon  this  he  slept  soundly  till  six  o'clock. 

His  mind  then  unfortunately  got  entangled  in  the 
painful  episode  of  the  ten-pound  note.  He  and 
Helen  had  the  same  blood  in  their  veins.  They 
were  alike  in  some  essential  traits.  He  knew  that 
neither  of  them  could  ever  persuade  himself,  or  her- 
self, to  mention  that  miserable  ten-pound  note  again. 

"  If  I  gave  her  a  tenner,"  he  said,  "  that  would 
make  her  see  as  I'd  settled  to  forget  that  business, 
and  let  bygones  be  bygones.  I'll  give  her  a  tenner." 

It  was  preposterous.  She  could  not,  of  course, 
spend  it.  She  would  put  it  away.  So  it  would  not 
be  wasted. 

Upon  this  he  rose. 

Poor  simpleton!  Ever  since  the  commencement 
of  his  relations  with  Helen,  surprise  had  followed  sur- 
prise for  him.  An.d  the  series  was  not  ended. 

The  idea  of  giving  a  gift  made  him  quite  nervous. 
He  fumbled  in  his  cashbox  for  quite  a  long  time,  and 
then  he  called,  nervously: 


144    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"Helen!" 

She  came,  out  of  the  kitchen  into  the  front  room. 
(Dress:  White  muslin  —  unspeakable  extravagance 
in  a  town  of  smuts.) 

"  It's  thy  birthday,  lass?" 

She  nodded,  smiling. 

"  Well,  tak'  this." 

He  handed  her  a  ten-pound  note. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  uncle !  "  she  cried,  just  on  the 
calm  side  of  effusiveness. 

At  this  point  the  surprise  occurred. 

There  was  another  ten-pound  note  in  the  cashbox. 
His  fingers  went  for  a  stroll  on  their  own  account 
and  returned  with  that  note. 

"Hold  on!"  he  admonished  her  for  jumping  to 
conclusions.  "  And  this !  "  And  he  gave  her  a  sec- 
ond note.  He  was  much  more  startled  than  she 
was. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  uncle !  "  And  then,  laughing : 
"  Why,  it's  nearly  a  sovereign  for  every  year  of  my 
life!" 

"How  old  art?" 

"  Twenty-six." 

"I'm  gone  dotty!"  he  said  to  his  soul.  "I'm 
gone  dotty !  "  And  his  eyes  watched  his  fingers  take 
six  sovereigns  out  of  the  box,  and  count  them  into 


THE  GIFT  145 

her  small  white  hand.  And  his  cheek  felt  her 
kiss. 

She  went  off  with  twenty-six  pounds  —  twenty-six 
pounds !  The  episode  was  entirely  incredible. 

Breakfast  was  a  most  pleasing  meal.  Though 
acknowledging  himself  an  imbecile,  he  was  obliged 
to  acknowledge  also  that  a  certain  pleasure  springs 
from  a  certain  sort  of  imbecility.  Helen  was  ador- 
able. 

Now  that  same  morning  he  had  received  from 
Mrs.  Prockter  a  flattering  note,  asking  him,  if  he 
could  spare  the  time,  to  go  up  to  Hillport  and  ex- 
amine Wilbraham  Hall  with  her,  and  give  her  his 
expert  advice  as  to  its  value,  etc.  He  informed 
Helen  of  the  plan. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  she  said  at  once. 

"What's  in  the  wind?"  he  asked  himself.  He 
saw  in  the  suggestion  a  device  for  seeing  Emanuel. 

"  The  fact  is,"  she  added,  "  I  want  to  show  you 
a  house  up  at  Hillport  that  might  do  for  us." 

He  winced.  She  had  said  nothing  about  a  re- 
moval for  quite  some  time.  He  hated  the  notion 
of  removal.  ("  Flitting,"  he  called  it.)  It  would 
mean  extra  expense,  too.  As  for  Hillport,  he  was 
sure  that  nothing,  except  cottages,  could  be  got  in 
Hillport  for  less  than  fifty  pounds  a  year.  If  she 


146    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

thought  he  was  going  to  increase  his  rent  by  thirty- 
two  pounds  a  year,  besides  rates,  she  was  in,  error. 
The  breakfast  finished  in  a  slight  mist.  He  hard- 
ened. The  idea  of  her  indicating  houses  to  him! 
The  idea  of  her  assuming  that  — ;  Well,  no  use  in 
meeting  trouble  half-way! 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE   HALL  AND  ITS  RESULT 

"  YES,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter,  gazing  about  her,  to 
James  Ollerenshaw,  u  it  certainly  is  rather  spacious." 
"  Rather  spacious  I  "  James  repeated  in  the  secret 
hollows  of  his  mind.  It  was  not  spacious;  it  was 
simply  fantastic.  They  stood,  those  two  —  Mrs. 
Prockter  in  her  usual  flowered  silk,  and  James  in  his 
usual  hard,  rent-collecting  clothes  —  at  the  foot  of 
the  double  staircase,  which  sprang  with  the  light 
of  elegance  of  wings  from  the  floor  of  the.  entrance- 
hall  of  Wilbraham  Hall.  In  front  of  them,  over 
the  great  door,  was  a  musicians'  gallery,  and  over 
that  a  huge  window.  On  either  side  of  the  great 
door  were  narrow  windows  which  looked  over 
stretches  of  green  country  far  away  from  the  Five 
Towns.  For  Wilbraham  Hall  was  on  the  supreme 
ridge  of  Hillport,.and  presented  only  its  back  yard, 
so  to  speak,  to  the  Five  Towns.  And  though  the 
carpets  were  rolled  up  and  tied  with  strings,  and 
though  there  were  dark  rectangular  spaces  on  the 
walls  showing  where  pictures  had  been,  the  effect  of 
147 


i48     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

the  hall  was  quite  a  furnished  effect.  Polished  oak 
and  tasselled  hangings,  and  monstrous  vases  and 
couches  and  chairs  preserved  in  it  the  appearance  of 
a  home,  if  a  home  of  giants. 

Decidedly  it  was  worthy  of  the  mighty  reputa- 
tions of  the  extinct  Wilbrahams.  The  Wilbrahams 
had  gradually  risen  in  North  Staffordshire  for  two 
centuries.  About  the  Sunday  of  the  Battle  of  Water- 
loo they  were  at  their  apogee.  Then  for  a  century 
they  had  gradually  fallen.  And  at  last  they  had 
extinguished  themselves  in  the  person  of  a  young-old 
fool  who  was  in  prison  for  having  cheated  a  pawn- 
broker. This  young-old  fool  had  nothing  but  the 
name  of  Wilbraham  to  his  back.  The  wealth  of  the 
Wilbrahams,  or  what  remained  of  it  after  eight  dec- 
ades of  declension,  had,  during  the  course  of  a  famous 
twenty  years'  law-suit  between  the  father  of  the  said 
young-old  fool  and  a  farming  cousin  in  California, 
slowly  settled  like  golden  dust  in  the  offices  of  lawyers 
in  Carey-street,  London.  And  the  house,  grounds, 
lake,  and  furniture  (save  certain  portraits)  were  now 
on  sale  by  order  of  the  distant  winner  of  the  law- 
suit. And  both  Mrs.  Prockter  and  James  could  re- 
member the  time  when  the  twin-horsed  equipage  of 
the  Wilbrahams  used  to  dash  about  the  Five  Towns 
like  the  chariot  of  the  sun.  The  recollection  made 


THE  HALL  AND  ITS  RESULT      149 

Mrs.  Prockter  sad,  but  in  James  it  produced  no  such 
feeling.  To  Mrs.  Prockter,  Wilbraham  Hall  was 
the  last  of  the  stylish  port-wine  estates  that  in  old 
days  dotted  the  heights  around  the  Five  Towns.  To 
her  it  was  the  symbol  of  the  death  of  tone  and  the  tri- 
umph of  industrialism.  Whereas  James  merely  saw 
it  as  so  much  building  land  upon  which  streets  of 
profitable  and  inexpensive  semi-detached  villas  would 
one  day  rise  at  the  wand's  touch  of  the  man  who  had 
sufficient  audacity  for  a  prodigious  speculation. 

"  It  'ud  be  like  living  in  th'  covered  market,  living 
here,"  James  observed. 

The  St.  Luke's  Market  is  the  largest  roof  in  Burs- 
ley.  And  old  inhabitants,  incapable  of  recovering 
from  the  surprise  of  marketing  under  cover  instead 
of  in  an  open  square,  still,  after  thirty  years,  refer 
to  it  as  the  covered  market. 

Mrs.  Prockter  smiled. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  James,  "  where's  them 
childer?" 

The  old  people  looked  around.  Emanuel  and 
Helen,  who  had  entered  the  proud  precincts  with 
them,  had  vanished. 

"  I  believe  they're  upstairs,  ma'am,"  said  the  fat 
caretaker,  pleating  her  respectable  white  apron. 

"  You  can  go,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter,  curtly,  to  this 


1 50     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

vestige  of  grandeur.  "  I  will  see  you  before  I 
leave." 

The  apron  resented  the  dismissal,  and  perhaps 
would  have  taken  it  from  none  but  Mrs.  Prockter. 
But  Mrs.  Prockter  had  a  mien,  and  a  flowered  silk, 
before  which  even  an  apron  of  the  Wilbrahams  must 
quail. 

"  I  may  tell  you,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,"  she  remarked, 
confidentially,  when  they  were  alone,  "  that  I  have 
not  the  slightest  intention  of  buying  this  place. 
Emanuel  takes  advantage  of  my  good  nature. 
You've  no  idea  how  persistent  he  is.  So  all  you  have 
•to  do  is  to  advise  me  firmly  not  to  buy  it.  That's 
why  I've  asked  you  to  come  up.  He  acknowledges 
that  you're  an  authority,  and  he'll  be  forced  to  accept 
your  judgment." 

"Why  didn't  ye  say  that  afore,  missis?"  asked 
James,  bluntly. 

"Before  when?" 

"  Before  that  kick-up  (party)  o'  yours.  He  got 
out  of  me  then  as  I  thought  it  were  dirt  cheap  at 
eight  thousand." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  move,"  pleaded  Mrs. 
Prockter. 

"I'm  asking  ye  why  ye  didn't  tell  me  afore?" 
James  repeated. 


THE  HALL  AND  ITS  RESULT      151 

Mrs.  Prockter  looked  at  him.  "  Men  are  trying 
creatures!  "  she  said.  "  So  it  seems  you  can't  tell  a 
tarradiddle  for  me?"  And  she  sighed. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  object  to  that.  What  I  object 
to  is  contradicting  mysen." 

"  Why  did  you  bring  Helen?  "  Mrs.  Prockter  de- 
manded. 

"  I  didna'.     She  come  hersen." 

They  exchanged  glances. 

"  And  now  she  and  Emanuel  have  run  off." 

"  It  looks  to  me,"  said  James,  "  as  if  your  plan  for 
knocking  their  two  heads  together  wasna'  turning  out 
as  you  meant  it,  missis." 

"  And  what's  more,"  said  she,  "  I  do  believe  that 
Emanuel  wants  me  to  buy  this  place  so  that  when  I'm 
gone  he  can  make  a  big  splash  here  with  your  niece 
and  your  money,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw!  What  do  you 
think  of  that?" 

"  He  may  make  as  much  splash  as  he's  a  mind  to, 
wi'  my  niece,"  James  answered.  "  But  he  won't 
make  much  of  a  splash  with  my  money,  I  can  prom- 
ise ye."  His  orbs  twinkled.  "  I  can  promise  ye,". 
He  repeated. 

"  To  whom  do  you  mean  to  leave  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  to  his  wife." 

"  H'm !     Well,  as  we're  here,  I  suppose  we  may 


i52     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

as  well  see  what  there  is  to  be  seen.  And  those  two 
dreadful  young  people  must  be  found." 

They  mounted  the  stairs. 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  arm,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  ?  " 

To  such  gifts  he  was  not  used.  Already  he  had 
given  twenty-six  pounds  that  day.  The  spectacle  of 
Jimmy  ascending  the  state  staircase  of  Wilbraham 
Hall  with  all  the  abounding  figure  of  Mrs.  Prockter 
on  his  arm  would  have  drawn  crowds  had  it  been 
offered  to  the  public  at  sixpence  a  head. 

They  inspected  the  great  drawing-room,  the  great 
dining-room,  the  great  bedroom,  and  all  the  lesser 
rooms;  the  galleries,  the  balconies,  the  panellings,  the 
embrasures,  the  suites  and  suites  and  suites  of 
Georgian  and  Victorian  decaying  furniture;  the  ceil- 
ings and  the  cornices;  the  pictures  and  engravings 
(of  which  some  hundreds  remained)  ;  the  ornaments, 
the  clocks,  the  screens,  and  the  microscopic  knick- 
knacks.  Both  of  them  lost  count  of  everything,  ex- 
cept that  before  they  reached  the  attics  they  had 
passed  through  forty-five  separate  apartments,  not  in- 
.  eluding  linen  closets.  It  was  in  one  of  the  attics,  as 
empty  as  Emanuel's  head,  that  they  discovered 
Emanuel  and  Helen,  gazing  at  a  magnificent  prospect 
over  the  moorlands,  with  the  gardens,  the  paddock, 
and  Wilbraham  Water  immediately  beneath. 


THE  HALL  AND  ITS  RESULT      153 

"  We've  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,"  Helen 
burst  out.  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Prockter,  do  come  with  me 
to  the  end  of  the  corridor,  and  look  at  three  old 
distaffs  that  I've  found  in  a  cupboard !  " 

During  the  absence  of  the  women,  James  Olleren- 
shaw  contradicted  himself  to  Emanuel  for  the  sweet 
sake  of  Emanuel's  stepmother.  Little  by  little  they 
descended  to  the  earth,  with  continual  detours  and 
halts  by  Helen,  who  was  several  times  lost  and 
found. 

"  I've  told  him,"  said  James,  quietly  and  proudly. 
"  I've  told  him  it's  no  use  to  you  unless  you  want  to 
turn  it  into  a  building  estate." 

They  separated  into  two  couples  at  the  gate,  with 
elaborate  formalities  on  the  part  of  Emanuel,  which 
Uncle  James  more  or  less  tried  to  imitate. 

"Well?"  murmured  James,  sighing  relief,  as 
they  waited  for  the  electric  tram  in  that  umbra- 
geous and  aristocratic  portion  of  the  Oldcastle-road 
which  lies  nearest  to  the  portals  of  Wilbraham  Hall. 
He  was  very  pleased  with  himself,  because,  at  the 
cost  of  his  own  respect,  he  had  pleased  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter. 

"Well?"  murmured  Helen,  in  response,  tapping 
on  the  edge  of  the  pavement  the  very  same  sunshade 
in  whose  company  James  had  first  made  her  ac- 


i54     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

quaintance.  She  seemed  nervous,  hesitating,  appre- 
hensive. 

"  What  about  that  house  as  ye've  so  kindly  chosen 
for  me?"  he  asked,  genially.  He  wanted  to  hu- 
mour her. 

She  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  You've 
seen  it,"  said  she. 

"  What  I  "  he  snorted.     "  When  han  I  seen  it?  " 

"Just  now,"  she  replied.  "It's  Wilbraham 
Hall.  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Prockter  wouldn't  have 
it.  And,  besides,  I've  made  Emanuel  give  up  all 
idea  of  it." 

He  laughed,  but  with  a  strange  and  awful  sen- 
sation in  his  stomach. 

"  A  poor  joke,  lass !  "  he  observed,  with  the  laugh 
dead  in  his  throat. 

"  It  isn't  a  poor  joke,"  said  she.  "  It  isn't  a  joke 
at  all." 

"  Didst  thou  seriously  think  as  I  should  buy  that 
there  barracks  to  please  thee?  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  courageously.  "  Just  that 
—  to  please  me." 

"  I'm  right  enough  where  I  am,"  he  asserted, 
grimly.  "  What  for  should  I  buy  Wilbraham  Hall  ? 
What  should  I  do  in  it?  " 

"  Live  in  it." 


THE  HALL  AND  ITS  RESULT      155 

'"  Trafalgar-road's  good  enough  for  me." 

"  But  it  isn't  good  enough  for  me,"  said  she. 

"  I  wouldna'  ha'  minded,"  he  said,  savagely  — 
"  I  wouldna'  ha'  minded  going  into  a  house  a  bit 
bigger,  but — " 

"  Nothing  is  big  enough  for  me  except  Wilbra- 
ham  Hall,"  she  said. 

He  said  nothing.  He  was  furious.  It  was  her 
birthday,  and  he  had  given  her  six-and-twenty 
pounds  —  ten  shillings  a  week  for  a  year  —  and  she 
had  barely  kissed  him.  And  now,  instantly  after 
that  amazing  and  mad  generosity,  she  had  the  face 
to  look  cross  because  he  would  not  buy  Wilbra- 
ham  Hall!  It  was  inconceivable;  it  was  unutter- 
able. So  he  said  nothing. 

"Why  shouldn't  you,  after  all?"  she  resumed. 
"  You've  got  an  income  of  nearly  five  thousand  a 
year."  (Now  he  hated  her  for  the  mean  manner 
in  which  she  had  wormed  out  of  him  secrets  that 
previously  he  had  shared  with  no  one.)  "  You 
don't  spend  the  twentieth  part  of  it.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  it?  What  are  you  going  to  do 
with  it?  You're  getting  an  old  man."  (Cold 
horrors!)  "You  can't  take  it  with  you  when  you 
leave  the  Five  Towns,  you  know.  Whom  shall  you 
leave  your  money  to?  You'll  probably  die  worth 


i56     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  at  this  rate.  You'll 
leave  it  to  me,  of  course.  Because  there's  nobody 
else  for  you  to  leave  it  to.  Why  can't  you  use  it 
now,  instead  of  wasting  it  in  old  stockings?  " 

"  I  bank  my  money,  wench,"  he  hissingly  put  in. 

"Old  stockings!"  she  repeated,  loudly.  "We 
could  live  splendidly  at  Wilbraham  Hall  on  two 
thousand  a  year,  and  you  would  still  be  saving  nearly 
three  thousand  a  year." 

He  said  nothing. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  gave  up  my  position  at  school 
in  order  to  live  in  a  poky  little  hole  at  eighteen 
pounds  a  year?  What  do  you  think  I  can  do  with 
myself  all  day  in  Trafalgar-road?  Why,  nothing. 
There's  no  room  even  for  a  piano,  and  so  my  fingers 
are  stiffening  every  day.  It's  not  life  at  all. 
Naturally,  it's  a  great  privilege,"  she  pursued,  with 
a  vicious  inflection  that  reminded  him  perfectly  of 
Susan,  "for  a  girl  like  me  to  live  with  an  old  man 
like  you,  all  alone,  with  one  servant  and  no  sit- 
ting-room. But  some  privileges  cost  too  dear.  The 
fact  is,  you  never  think  of  me  at  all."  (And  he 
had  but  just  given  her  six-and-twenty  pounds.) 
"  You  think  you've  got  a  cheap  housekeeper  in  me 
—  but  you  haven't.  I'm  a  very  good  housekeeper 


THE  HALL  AND  ITS  RESULT      157 

—  especially  in  a  very  large  house  —  but  I'm  not 
cheap." 

She  spoke  as  if  she  had  all  her  life  been  accus- 
tomed to  living  in  vast  mansions.  But  James  knew 
that,  despite  her  fine  friends,  she  had  never  lived 
in  anything  appreciably  larger  than  his  own  dwell- 
ing. He  knew  there  was  not  a  house  in  Sneyd- 
road,  Longshaw,  worth  more  than  twenty-five 
pounds  a  year.  The  whole  outbreak  was  shocking 
and  disgraceful.  He  scarcely  recognised  her. 

He  said  nothing.  And  then  suddenly  he  said: 
"I  shall  buy  no  Wilbraham  Hall,  lass."  His 
voice  was  final. 

"  You  could  sell  it  again  at  a  profit,"  said  she. 
"  You  could  turn  it  into  a  building  estate  "  (parrot- 
cry  caught  from  himself  or  from  Emanuel),  "and 
later  on  we  could  go  and  live  somewhere  else." 

"Yes,"  said  he;  "Buckingham  Palace,  likely!" 

"  I  don't  — "  she  began. 

"  I  shall  buy  no  Wilbraham  Hall,"  he  reiterated. 
Greek  had  met  Greek. 

The  tram  surged  along  and  swallowed  up  the 
two  Greeks.  They  were  alone  in  the  tram,  and  they 
sat  down  opposite  each  other.  The  conductor 
came  and  took  James's  money,  and  the  conductor  had 


i58     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

hardly  turned  his  back  when  Helen  snapped,  with 
nostrils  twitching: 

"  You're  a  miser,  that's  what  you  are !  A  reg- 
ular old  miser!  Every  one  knows  that.  Every 
one  calls  you  a  miser.  If  you  aren't  a  miser,  I 
should  like  you  to  tell  me  why  you  live  on  about 
three  pounds  a  week  when  your  income  is  ninety 
pounds  a  week.  I  thought  I  might  do  you  some 
good.  I  thought  I  might  get  you  out  of  it.  But 
it  seems  I  can't." 

"Ah!"  he  snorted.  It  was  a  painful  sight. 
Other  persons  boarded  the  car. 

At  tea  she  behaved  precisely  like  an  angel.  Not 
the  least  hint  of  her  demeanour  of  the  ineffable  af- 
fray of  the  afternoon.  She  was  so  sweet  that  he 
might  have  given  her  twenty-six  Wilbraham  Halls 
instead  of  twenty-six  pounds.  He  spoke  not.  He 
was,  in  a  very  deep  sense,  upset. 

She  spent  the  evening  in  her  room. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said  the  next  morning,  most 
amiably.  It  was  after  breakfast.  She  was  hatted, 
gloved  and  sunshaded. 

"What?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Au  revoir,"  she  said.  "All  my  things  are 
packed  up.  I  shall  send  for  them.  I  think  I  can 
go  back  to  the  school.  If  I  can't,  I  shall  go  to 


THE  HALL  AND  ITS  RESULT      159 

mother  in  Canada.     Thank  you  very  much  for  all 
your  kindness.     If  I  go  to  Canada,  of  course  I  shall 
come  and  see  you  before  I  leave." 
He  let  her  shake  his  hand. 

For  two  days  he  was  haunted  by  memories  of 
kidney  omelettes  and  by  the  word  "  miser."  Miser, 
eh?  Him  a  miser!  Him!  Ephraim  Tellwright 
was  a  miser  —  but  him! 

Then  the  natty  servant  gave  notice,  and  Mrs. 
Butt  called  and  suggested  that  she  should  resume 
her  sway  over  him.  But  she  did  not  employ  ex- 
actly that  phrase. 

He  longed  for  one  of  Helen's  meals  as  a  drunk- 
ard longs  for  alcohol. 

Then  Helen  called,  with  the  casual  information 
that  she  was  off  to  Canada.  She  was  particularly 
sweet.  She  had  the  tact  to  make  the  interview  short. 
The  one  blot  on  her  conduct  of  the  interview  was  that 
she  congratulated  him  on  the  possible  return  of  Mrs. 
Butt,  of  which  she  had  heard  from  the  natty  servant. 

"  Good-bye,  uncle,"  she  said. 

"  Good-bye." 

She  had  got  as  far  as  the  door,  when  he  whis- 
pered, brokenly :  "  Lass  — ' 

Helen  turned  quickly  towards  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DESCENDANTS   OF.  MACHIAVELLI 

YES,  she  turned  towards  him  with  a  rapid,  impulsive 
movement,  which  expressed  partly  her  sympathy  for 
her  old  uncle,  and  partly  a  feeling  of  joy  caused  by 
the  sudden  hope  that  he  had  decided  to  give  way 
and  buy  Wilbraham  Hall  after  all. 

And  the  fact  was  that,  in  his  secret  soul,  he  had 
decided  to  give  way;  he  had  decided  that  Helen, 
together  with  Helen's  cooking,  was  worth  to  him 
the  price  of  Wilbraham  Hall.  But  when  he  saw 
her  brusque,  eager  gesture,  he  began  to  reflect.  His 
was  a  wily  and  profound  nature;  he  reckoned  that 
he  could  read  the  human  soul,  and  he  said  to  him- 
self: 

"  The  wench  isn't  so  set  on  leaving  me  as  I 
thought  she  was." 

And  instead  of  saying  to  her:  "Helen,  lass,  if 
you'll  stop  you  shall  have  your  Wilbraham  Hall," 
in  tones  of  affecting,  sad  surrender,  he  said: 

"  I'm  sorry  to  lose  thee,  my  girl ;  but  what  must 
be  must." 

1 60 


DESCENDANTS  OF  MACHIAVELLI     161 

And  when  he  caught  the  look  in  her  eyes,  he  was 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  he  would  be  able  to 
keep  Helen  without  satisfying  her  extremely  expen- 
sive whim. 

Helen,  for  her  part,  began  to  suspect  that  if  she 
played  the  fish  with  sufficient  skill,  she  would  capture 
it.  Thus  they  both,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  got 
out  their  landing-nets. 

"  I  don't  say,"  James  Ollerenshaw  proceeded,  in 
accents  calculated  to  prove  to  her  that  he  had  just 
as  great  a  horror  of  sentimentality  as  she  had  — 
"  I  don't  say  as  you  wouldn't  make  a  rare  good 
mistress  o'  Wilbraham  Hall.  I  don't  say  as  I 
wouldn't  like  to  see  you  in  it.  But  when  a  man 
reaches  my  age,  he's  fixed  in  his  habits  like.  And, 
what's  more,  supposing  I  am  saving  a  bit  o'  money, 
who  am  I  saving  it  for,  if  it  isn't  for  you  and  your 
mother  ?  You  said  as  much  yourself.  I  might  pop 
off  any  minute  — " 

"Uncle!"  Helen  protested. 

"  Ay,  any  minute !  "  he  repeated,  firmly.  "  I've 
known  stronger  men  nor  me  pop  off  as  quick  as  a 
bottle  o'  ginger-beer  near  the  fire."  Here  he  gazed 
at  her,  and  his  gaze  said:  "  If  I  popped  off  here 
and  now,  wouldn't  you  feel  ashamed  o'  yerself  for 
being  so  hard  on  your  old  uncle?  " 


1 62     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  You'll  live  many  and  many  a  year  yet,"  Helen 
smiled. 

He  shook  his  head  pessimistically.  "  I've  set 
my  heart,"  he  continued,  "  on  leaving  a  certain  sum 
for  you  and  yer  mother.  I've  had  it  in  mind  since 
I  don't  know  when.  It's  a  fancy  o'  mine.  And  I 
canna'  do  it  if  I'm  to  go  all  around  th'  Five  Towns 
buying  barracks." 

Helen  laughed.  "  What  a  man  you  are  for  ex- 
aggerating ! "  she  flattered  him.  Then  she  sat 
down. 

He  considered  that  he  was  gradually  winding  in 
his  line  with  immense  skill.  "  Ay,"  he  ejaculated, 
with  an  absent  air,  "  it's  a  fancy  o'  mine." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  to  leave?  "  Helen  ques- 
tioned, faintly  smiling. 

"  Don't  you  bother  your  head  about  that,"  said 
he.  "  You  may  take  it  from  me  as  it's  a  tidy  sum. 
And  when  I'm  dead  and  gone,  and  you've  got  it 
all,  then  ye  can  do  as  ye  feel  inclined." 

"  I  shall  beat  her,  as  sure  as  eggs !  "  he  told  him- 
self. 

"  All  this  means  that  he'll  give  in  when  it  comes 
to  the  point,"  she  told  herself. 

And  aloud  she  said:  "Have  you  had  supper, 
uncle?" 


DESCENDANTS  OF  MACHIAVELLI     163 

"  No,"  he  replied. 

The  next  development  was  that,  without  another 
word,  she  removed  her  gloves,  lifted  her  pale  hands 
to  her  head,  and  slowly  drew  hatpins  from  her  hat. 
Then  she  removed  her  hat,  and  plunged  the  pins 
into  it  again.  He  could  scarcely  refrain  from 
snatching  off  his  own  tasselled  Turkish  cap  and 
pitching  it  in  the  air.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  won 
the  Battle  of  Hastings,  or  defeated  the  captain  of 
the  bowling  club  in  a  single-handed  match. 

"  And  to  think,"  he  reflected,  "  that  I  should  ha* 
given  in  to  her  by  this  time  if  I  hadn't  got  more 
sense  in  my  little  finger  than  — "  etc. 

"  I  think  I'll  stay  and  cook  you  a  bit  of  supper," 
said  Helen.  "  I  suppose  Georgiana  is  in  the 
kitchen?" 

"  If  her  isn't,  her's  in  the  back  entry,"  said 
Jimmy. 

"  What's  she  doing  in  the  back  entry?  " 

"Counting  the  stars,"  said  Jimmy;  "and  that 
young  man  as  comes  with  the  bread  helping  her, 
most  like." 

"  I  must  talk  to  that  girl."     Helen  rose. 

"Ye  may,"  said  Jimmy;  "but  th'  baker's  man'll 
have  th'  last  word,  or  times  is  changed." 

He  was  gay.     He  could  not  conceal  his  gaiety. 


1 64    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

He  saw  himself  freed  from  the  menace  of  the  thral- 
dom of  Mrs.  Butt.  He  saw  himself  gourmandis- 
ing  over  the  meals  that  Helen  alone  could  cook. 
He  saw  himself  trotting  up  and  down  the  streets 
of  Bursley  with  the  finest,  smartest  lass  in  the  Five 
Towns  by  his  side.  And  scarcely  a  penny  of  extra 
expenditure!  And  all  this  happy  issue  due  to  his 
diplomatic  and  histrionic  skill!  The  fact  was, 
Helen  really  liked  him.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
about  that.  She  liked  him,  and  she  would  not  leave 
him.  Also,  she  was  a  young  woman  of  exceptional 
common  sense,  and,  being  such,  she  would  not  risk 
the  loss  of  a  large  fortune  merely  for  the  sake  of 
indulging  pique  engendered  by  his  refusal  to  gratify 
a  ridiculous  caprice. 

Before  she  had  well  quitted  the  room  he  saw  with 
clearness  that  he  was  quite  the  astutest  man  in  the 
world,  and  that  Helen  was  clay  in  his  hands. 

The  sound  of  crockery  in  the  scullery,  and  the 
cheerful  little  explosion  when  the  gas-ring  was  ig- 
nited, and  the  low  mutter  of  conversation  that  en- 
sued between  Helen  and  Georgiana  —  these  phe- 
nomena were  music  to  the  artist  in  him.  He  ex- 
tracted the  concertina  from  its  case  and  began  to 
play  "  The  Dead  March  in  Saul."  Not  because  his 
sentiments  had  a  foundation  in  the  slightest  degree 


DESCENDANTS  OF  MACHIAVELLI     165 

funereal,  but  because  he  could  perform  "  The  Dead 
March  in  Saul "  with  more  virtuosity  than  any  other 
piece  except  "The  Hallelujah  Chorus."  And  he 
did  not  desire  to  insist  too  much  on  his  victory 
by  filling  Trafalgar-road  with  "  The  Hallelujah 
Chorus."  He  was  discretion  itself. 

When  she  came  back  to  the  parlour  (astound- 
ingly  natty  in  a  muslin  apron  of  Georgiana's)  to 
announce  supper,  she  made  no  reference  to  the  con- 
cert which  she  was  interrupting.  He  abandoned  the 
concertina  gently,  caressing  it  into  its  leather  shell. 
He  was  full  to  the  brim  with  kindliness.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  his  life  with  Helen  was  commencing  all 
over  again.  Then  he  followed  the  indications  of  his 
nose,  which  already  for  some  minutes  had  been 
prophesying  to  him  that  in  the  concoction  of  the 
supper  Helen  had  surpassed  herself. 

And  she  had.  There  was  kidney.  .  .  . 
No,  not  in  an  omelette,  but  impaled  on  a  skewer. 
A  novel  species  of  kidney,  a  particularity  in  kid- 
neys! 

"  Where  didst  pick  this  up,  lass?  "  he  asked. 

*"  It's  the  kidneys  of  that  rabbit  that  you've 
bought  for  to-morrow,"  said  she. 

Now,  he  had  no  affection  for  rabbit  as  an  article 
of  diet,  and  he  had  only  bought  the  rabbit  because 


1 66     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

the  rabbit  happened  to  be  going  past  his  door  ~(m 
the  hands  of  a  hawker)  that  morning.  His  per- 
functory purchase  of  it  showed  how  he  had  lost  in- 
terest in  life  and  meals  since  Helen's  departure. 
And  lo !  she  had  transformed  a  minor  part  of  it  into 
something  wondrous,  luscious,  and  unforgettable. 
Ah,  she  was  Helen !  And  she  was  his ! 

"  I've  asked  Georgiana  to  make  up  my  bed,'* 
Helen  said,  after  the  divine  repast. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  do,"  he  said,  in  an  ecstasy 
of  generosity,  "  I'll  buy  thee  a  piano,  lass,  and  we'll 
put  it  in  th'  parlour  against  the  wall  where  them 
books  are  now." 

She  kept  silence  —  a  silence  which  vaguely  dis- 
turbed him. 

So  that  he  added:  "  And  if  ye're  bent  on  a  bigger 
house,  there's  one  up  at  Park-road,  above  th'  Park, 
semi-detached  —  at  least,  it's  the  end  of  a  terrace 
—  as  I  can  get  for  thirty  pounds  a  year." 

"  My  dearest  uncle,"  she  said,  in  a  firm,  even 
voice,  "what  are  you  talking  about?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  when  I  came  in  that  I  had  settled  to  go  to 
Canada  ?  I  thought  it  was  all  decided.  Surely  you 
don't  think-  I'm  going  to  live  in  a  poky  house  in 
Park-road  —  the  very  street  where  my  school  was, 
too!  I  perfectly  understand  that  you  won't  buy 


DESCENDANTS  OF  MACHIAVELL7     i6> 

Wilbraham  Hall.  That's  all  right.  I  shan't 
pout.  I  hate  women  who  pout.  We  can't  agree, 
but  we're  friends.  You  do  what  you  like  with  your 
money,  and  I  do  what  I  like  with  myself.  I  had  a 
sort  of  idea  I  would  try  to  make  you  beautifully 
comfortable  just  for  the  last  time  before  I  left  Eng- 
land, and  that's  why  I'm  staying.  I  do  hope  you 
didn't  imagine  anything  else,  uncle.  There !  " 

She  kissed  him,  not  as  a  niece,  but  as  a  wise,  ex- 
perienced nurse  might  have  kissed  a  little  boy.  For 
she,  too,  in  her  way,  reckoned  herself  somewhat  of 
a  diplomatist  and  a  descendant  of  Machiavelli. 
She  had  thought :  "  It's  a  funny  thing  if  I  can't 
bring  him  to  his  knees  with  a  tasty  supper  —  just 
to  make  it  clear  to  him  what  he'll  lose  if  he  loses 
me." 

James  Ollerenshaw  had  no  sleep  that  night. 
And  Helen  had  but  little. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CHICANE 

HE  came  downstairs  early,  as  he  had  done  after  a 
previous  sleepless  night  —  also  caused  by  Helen. 

That  it  would  be  foolish,  fatuous,  and  inexcusable 
to  persevere  further  in  his  obstinacy  against  Helen, 
this  he  knew.  He  saw  clearly  that  all  his  argu- 
ments to  her  about  money  and  the  saving  of  money 
were  ridiculous;  they  would  not  have  carried  con- 
viction even  to  the  most  passive  intelligence,  and 
Helen's  intelligence  was  far  from  passive.  They 
were  not  even  true  in  fact,  for  he  had  never  in- 
tended to  leave  any  money  to  Helen's  mother;  he 
had  never  intended  to  leave  any  money  to  anybody, 
simply  because  he  had  not  cared  to  think  of  his  own 
decease;  he  had  made  no  plans  about  the  valuable 
fortune  which,  as  Helen  had  too  forcibly  told  him, 
he  would  not  be  able  to  bear  away  with  him  when 
he  left  Bursley  for  ever;  this  subject  was  not 
pleasant  to  him.  All  his  rambling  sentences  to 
Helen  (which  he  had  thought  so  clever  when  he 
uttered  them)  were  merely  an  excuse  for  not  part- 
168 


CHICANE  169 

ing  with  money  —  money  that  was  useless  to 
him. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  Helen  had  said  was 
both  true  and  convincing;  at  any  rate,  it  convinced 
him. 

He  was  a  miser;  he  admitted  it.  Being  a  miser, 
he  saw,  was  one  way  of  enjoying  yourself,  but  not 
the  best  way.  Again,  if  he  really  desired  to  enrich 
Helen,  how  much  better  to  enrich  her  at  once  than 
at  an  uncertain  date  when  he  would  be  dead.  Dead 
people  can't  be  thanked.  Dead  people  can't  be 
kissed.  Dead  people  can't  have  curious  dainties 
offered  to  them  for  their  supper.  He  wished  to 
keep  Helen;  but  Helen  would  only  stay  on  one  con- 
dition. That  condition  was  a  perfectly  easy  con- 
dition for  him  to  fulfil.  After  paying  eight  thou- 
sand pounds  (or  a  bit  less)  for  Wilbraham  Hall,  he 
would  still  have  about  ten  times  as  much  money  as 
he  could  possibly  require.  Of  course,  eight  thou- 
sand pounds  was  a  lot  of  coin.  But,  then,  you  can't 
measure  women  (especially  when  they  are  good 
cooks),  in  terms  of  coin.  For  instance,  it  happened 
that  he  had  exactly  £8,000  in  shares  of  the  London 
and  North  Western  Railway  Company.  The  share- 
certificates  were  in  his  safe;  he  could  hold  them  in 
his  hand;  he  could  sell  them  and  buy  Wilbraham 


1 70    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

Hall  with  the  proceeds.  That  is  to  say,  he  could 
exchange  them  for  Helen.  Now,  it  would  be  pre- 
posterous to  argue  that  he  would  not  derive  more 
satisfaction  from  Helen  than  from  those  crackling 
share-certificates. 

"Wilbraham  Hall,  once  he  became  its  owner, 
would  be  a  worry  —  an  awful  worry.  Well,  would 
it?  Would  not  Helen  be  entirely  capable  of  look- 
ing after  it,  of  superintending  it  in  every  way?  He 
knew  that  she  would!  As  for  the  upkeep  of  exist- 
ence in  Wilbraham  Hall,  had  not  Helen  proved  to 
him  that  its  cost  was  insignificant  when  compared  to 
his  income?  She  had. 

And  as  to  his  own  daily  manner  of  living,  could 
he  not  live  precisely  as  he  chose  at  Wilbraham  Hall  ? 
He  could.  It  was  vast;  but  nothing  would  compel 
him  to  live  in  all  of  it  at  once.  He  coujd  choose 
a  nice  little  room,  and  put  a  notice  on  the  door  that 
it  was  not  to  be  disturbed.  And  Helen  could  run 
the  rest  of  the  mansion  as  her  caprice  dictated. 

The  process  of  argument  was  over  when  Helen 
descended  to  put  the  finishing  touches  to  a  break- 
fast which  she  had  evidently  concocted  with  Geor- 
giana  the  night  before. 

"  Breakfast  is  ready,  uncle,"  she  called  to  him. 

He  obeyed.     Flowers  on  the  table  once  more! 


CHICANE  171 

The  first  since  her  departure!  A  clean  cloth!  A 
general,  inexplicable  tuning-up  of  the  meal's  frame. 

You  would  now,  perhaps,  have  expected  him  to 
yield,  as  gracefully  as  an  old  man  can.  He  wanted 
to  yield.  He  hungered  to  yield.  He  knew  that  it 
was  utterly  for  his  own  good  to  yield.  But  if  you 
seriously  expected  him  to  yield,  your  knowledge  of 
human  nature  lacks  depth.  Something  far  stronger 
than  argument,  something  far  stronger  than  desire 
for  his  own  happiness,  prevented  him  from  yield- 
ing. Pride,  a  silly  self-conceit,  the  greatest  enemy 
of  the  human  race,  forbade  him  to  yield.  For,  on 
the  previous  night,  Helen  had  snubbed  him  —  and 
not  for  the  first  time.  He  could  not  accept  the  snub 
with  meekness,  though  it  would  have  paid  him  hand- 
somely to  do  so,  though  as  a  Christian  and  a 
philosopher  he  ought  to  have  done  so.  He  could 
not. 

So  he  put  on  a  brave  face,  pretended  to  accept 
the  situation  with  contented  calm,  and  talked  as  if 
Canada  was  the  next  street,  and  as  if  her  going  was 
entirely  indifferent  to  him.  Helen  imitated  him. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning;  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky 
—  only  in  their  hearts. 

"  Uncle!  "  she  said  after  breakfast  was  done  and 
cleared  away. 


172    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

He  was  counting  rents  in  his  cashbox  in  the  front 
parlour,  and  she  had  come  to  him,  and  was  leaning 
over  his  shoulder. 

"Well,  lass?" 

"  Have  you  got  twenty-five  pounds  in  that  box?  " 

It  was  obvious  that  he  had. 

"  I  shouldna'  be  surprised,"  said  he. 

"  I  wish  you'd  lend  it  me." 

"What  for?" 

"  I  want  to  go  over  to  Hanbridge  and  book  my 
berth,  definitely,  and  I've  no  loose  cash." 

Now  here  was  a  chance  to  yield.     But  no. 

"  Dost  mean  to  say,"  he  exclaimed,  "  as  ye 
havena'  booked  yer  berth?  When  does  th'  steamer 
sail?" 

"  There's  one  from  Glasgow  next  Saturday,"  said 
she  — "  the  Saskatchewan.  I  secured  the  berth,  but 
I  didn't  pay  for  it." 

"  It's  a  rare  lot  of  money,"  he  observed. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  I  didn't  want  all  that  for  the 
fare.  I've  other  things  to  pay  for  —  railway  to 
Glasgow,  etc.  You  will  lend  it  me,  won't  you?  " 

Her  fingers  were  already  in  the  cashbox.  She 
was  behaving  just  like  a  little  girl,  like  a  spoilt 
child.  It  was  remarkable,  he  considered,  how  old 


CHICANE  173 

and  mature  Helen  could  be  when  she  chose,  and  how 
kittenish  when  she  chose. 

She  went  off  with  four  five-pound  notes  and  five 
sovereigns.  "  Will  you  ask  me  to  come  back  and 
cook  the  dinner?"  she  smiled,  ironically,  enchant- 
ingly. 

"Ay!  "  he  said.     He  was  bound  to  smile  also. 

She  returned  in  something  over  two  hours. 
"There  you  are!"  she  said,  putting  a  blue-green 
paper  into  his  hand.  "  Ever  seen  one  of  these  be- 
fore?" 

It  was  the  ticket  for  the  steamer. 

This  staggered  him.  A  sensible,  determined 
woman,  who  disappears  to  buy  a  steamer-ticket,  may 
be  expected  to  reappear  with  a  steamer-ticket.  And 
yet  it  staggered  him.  He  could  scarcely  believe 
it.  She  was  going,  then !  She  was  going !  It  was 
inevitable  now. 

"  The  boat  leaves  the  Clyde  at  ten  in  the  morn- 
ing," she  said,  resuming  possession  of  the  paper, 
"so  we  must  go  to  Glasgow  on  Friday,  and  stop 
the  night  at  an  hotel." 

"We?"  he  murmured,  aghast. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "you  surely  won't  let  me 
travel  to  Glasgow  all  alone,  will  you?" 


i74    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  Her's  a  caution,  her  is !  "  he  privately  reflected. 

"  You  can  come  back  on  Saturday,"  she  said;  "  so 
that  you'll  be  in  time  to  collect  your  rents.  There's 
an  express  to  Glasgow  from  Crewe  at  1.15,  and  to 
catch  that  we  must  take  the  12.20  at  Shawport." 

She  had  settled  every  detail. 

"  And  what  about  my  dinner  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I'm  going  to  set  about  it  instantly,"  laughed 
she. 

"  I  mean  my  dinner  on  Friday?  "  he  said. 

"Oh,  that!"  she  replied.  "There's  a  restau- 
rant-car from  Crewe.  So  we  can  lunch  on  the 
train." 

This  idea  of  accompanying  her  to  Glasgow 
pleased  him  intensely.  "  Glasgow  isna'  much  i'  my 
line,"  he  said.  "  But  you  wenches  do  as  ye  like, 
seemingly." 

Thus,  on  the  Friday  morning,  he  met  her  down 
at  Shawport  Station.  He  was  in  his  best  clothes, 
but  he  had  walked.  She  arrived  in  a  cab,  that  car- 
ried a  pagoda  of  trunks  on  its  fragile  roof;  she  had 
come  straight  from  her  lodgings.  There  was  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  train-time.  He  paid  for 
the  cab.  He  also  bought  one  second-class  single 
and  one  second-class  return  to  Glasgow,  while  she 
followed  the  porter  who  trundled  her  luggage. 


CHICANE  175 

When  he  came  out  of  the  booking-office  (minus 
several  gold  pieces),  she  was  purchasing  papers  at 
the  bookstall,  and  farther  up  the  platform  the  porter 
had  seized  a  pastebrush,  and  was  opening  a  cupboard 
of  labels.  An  extraordinary  scheme  presented  itself 
to  James  Ollerenshaw's  mind,  and  he  trotted  up  to 
the  porter. 

"  I've  seen  to  the  baggage  myself,"  said  Helen, 
without  looking  at  him. 

"  All  right,"  he  said. 

The  porter  touched  his  cap. 

"Label  that  luggage  for  Crewe,"  he  whispered 
to  the  porter,  and  passed  straight  on,  as  if  taking 
exercise  on  the  platform. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  porter. 

When  he  got  back  to  Helen  of  course  he  had  to 
make  conversation  with  a  nonchalant  air,  in  order 
to  hide  his  guilty  feelings. 

"  So  none  of  'em  has  come  to  see  you  off !  "  he 
observed. 

"None  of  whom?" 

"None  o'  yer  friends." 

"  No  fear!  "  she  said.  "  I  wouldn't  have  it  for 
anything.  I  do  hate  and  loathe  good-byes  at  a 
railway  station.  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  Never  had  any,"  he  said. 


i76.  HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

The  train  was  prompt,  but  between  Shawport  and 
Crewe  it  suffered  delays,  so  that  there  was  not  an 
inordinate  amount  of  time  to  spare  at  the  majestic 
junction. 

Heedless,  fly-away  creature  that  she  was,  Helen 
scurried  from  the  North  Stafford  platform  to  the 
main-line  platform  without  a  thought  as  to  her  lug- 
gage. She  was  apparently  so  preoccupied  with  her 
handbag,  which  contained  her  purse,  that  she  had 
no  anxiety  left  over  for  her  heavy  belongings. 

As  they  hastened  forward,  he  saw  the  luggage  be- 
ing tumbled  out  on  to  the  platform. 

The  Glasgow  train  rolled  grandiosely  in,  and  the 
restaurant-car  came  to  a  standstill  almost  exactly  op- 
posite the  end  of  the  North  Stafford  platform.  They 
obtained  two  seats  with  difficulty.  Then,  as  there 
was  five  minutes  to  wait,  Jimmy  descended  from  the 
car  to  the  asphalte  and  peeped  down  the  North 
Stafford  platform.  Yes,  her  luggage  was  lying 
there,  deserted,  in  a  pile.  He  regained  the  carriage. 

"I  suppose  the  luggage  will  be  all  right?" 
Helen  said,  calmly,  just  as  the  guard  whistled. 

"  Ay !  "  said  he,  with  the  mien  of  a  traveller  of 
vast  experience.  "  I  saw  'em  bringing  all  th'  N.S. 
luggage  over.  It  were  th'  fust  thing  I  thought  of." 

As  a  liar  he  reckoned  he  was  pretty  good. 


CHICANE  177 

He  glanced  from  the  window  as  the  train  slid 
away  from  Crewe,  and  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye,  in 
the  distance,  over  the  heads  of  people,  he  had  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  the  topmost  of  Helen's 
trunks  safely  at  rest  on  the  North  Stafford  plat- 
form. 

He  felt  safe.  He  felt  strangely  joyous.  He  ate 
largely,  and  made  very  dry,  humorous  remarks 
about  the  novelty  of  a  restaurant  on  wheels. 

"Bless  us!"  he  said,  as  the  express  flushed 
through  Preston  without  stopping.  "  It's  fust  time 
as  I've  begun  a  bottle  o'  Bass  in  one  town  and 
finished  it  in  another." 

He  grew  positively  jolly,  and  the  journey  seemed 
to  be  accomplished  with  the  rapidity  of  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   TOSSING 

"  You  said  you'd  seen  it  into  the  van,"  pouted  Helen 
—  she  who  never  pouted  I 

"  Nay,  lass,"  he  corrected  her,  "  I  said  I'd  seen 
'em  bringing  all  th'  luggage  over." 

The  inevitable  moment  of  reckoning  had  arrived. 
They  stood  together  on  the  platform  of  St.  Enoch's, 
Glasgow.  The  last  pieces  of  luggage  were  being 
removed  from  the  guard's  van  under  the  direction 
of  passengers,  and  there  was  no  sign  whatever  of 
Helen's  trunks.  This  absence  of  Helen's  trunks  did 
not  in  the  least  surprise  James  Ollerenshaw;  he  was 
perfectly  aware  that  Helen's  trunks  reposed,  at  that 
self-same  instant,  in  the  lost  luggage  office  at  Crewe; 
but,  of  course,  he  had  to  act  surprise.  In  case  of 
necessity  he  could  act  very  well.  It  was  more  diffi- 
cult for  him  to  act  sorrow  than  to  act  surprise;  but 
he  did  both  to  his  own  satisfaction.  He  climbed 
into  the  van  and  scanned  its  corners  —  in  vain. 
Then,  side  by  side,  they  visited  the  other  van  at 
the  head  of  the  train,  with  an  equal  result. 
178 


THE  TOSSING  179 

The  two  guards,  being  Scotch,  responded  to  in- 
quiries with  extreme  caution.  All  that  they  would 
answer  for  was  that  the  trunks  were  not  in  the  train. 
Then  the  train  was  drawn  out  of  the  station  by  a 
toy-engine,  and  the  express  engine  followed  it  with 
grave  dignity,  and  Helen  and  Jimmy  were  left  star- 
ing at  the  empty  rails. 

"  Something  must  be  done,"  said  Helen,  crossly. 

"  Ay!  "  Jimmy  agreed.  "  It's  long  past  my  tea- 
time.  We  must  find  out  if  there's  anything  to  eat 
i'  Scotland." 

But  Helen  insisted  on  visiting  the  stationmaster. 
Now,  the  stationmaster  at  St.  Enoch's  is  one  of  the 
most  important  personages  north  of  the  Tweed,  and 
not  easily  to  be  seen.  However  Helen  saw  him. 
He  pointed  out  that  the  train  came  from  London 
in  two  portions,  which  were  divided  in  Scotland,  one 
going  to  Edinburgh,  and  his  suggestion  was  that 
conceivably  the  luggage  had  been  put  into  the  Edin- 
burgh van  in  mistake  for  the  Glasgow  van.  Such 
errors  did  occur  sometimes,  he  said,  implying  that 
the  North  Western  was  an  English  railway,  and 
that  surprising  things  happened  in  England.  He 
said,  also,  that  Helen  might  telephone  to  Edinburgh 
and  inquire. 

She  endeavoured  to  act  on  this  counsel,  but  came 


i8o     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

out  of  the  telephone  cabin  saying  that  she  could  not 
get  into  communication  with  Edinburgh. 

"  Better  go  over  to  Edinburgh  and  see  for  your- 
self," said  Jimmy,  tranquilly. 

"Yes,  and  what  about  my  steamer?"  Helen 
turned  on  him. 

"  Scotland  canna'  be  so  big  as  all  that,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  Not  according  to  th'  maps.  Us  could 
run  over  to  Edinburgh  to-night,  and  get  back  to 
Glasgow  early  to-morrow." 

She  consented. 

Just  as  he  was  taking  two  second  returns  to  Edin- 
burgh (they  had  snatched  railway  eggs  and  rail- 
way tea  while  waiting  for  a  fast  train)  he  stopped 
and  said: 

"  Unless  ye  prefer  to  sail  without  your  trunks, 
and  I  could  send  'em  on  by  th'  next  steamer?  " 

"  Uncle,"  she  protested,  "  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't 
be  so  silly.  The  idea  of  me  sailing  without  my 
trunks !  Why  don't  you  ask  me  to  sail  without  my 
head?" 

"All  right  — all  right!"  he  responded.  "But 
don't  snap  mine  off.  Two  second  returns  to  Edin- 
burgh, young  man,  and  I'll  thank  ye  to  look  slippy 
over  it." 


THE  TOSSING  181 

In  the  Edinburgh  train  he  could  scarcely  refrain 
from  laughing.  And  Helen,  too,  seemed  more  in 
a  humour  to  accept  the  disappearance  of  five  invalu- 
able trunks,  full  of  preciosities;  as  a  facetious  sally 
on  the  part  of  destiny. 

He  drew  out  a  note-book  which  he  always  carried, 
and  did  mathematical  calculations. 

"  That  makes  twenty-seven  pounds  eighteen  and 
ninepence  as  ye  owe  me,"  he  remarked. 

"  What  ?     For  railway  tickets  ?  " 

"  Railway  tickets,  tips,  and  that  twenty-five  pounds 
I  lent  ye.  I'm  making  ye  a  present  o'  my  fares, 
and  dinner,  and  tea  and  so  forth." 

"  Twenty-five  pounds  that  you  lent  me !  "  she 
murmured. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  Tuesday  morning,  while  I 
was  at  my  cashbox." 

"  Oh,  that! "  she  ejaculated.  "  I  thought  you 
were  giving  me  that.  I  never  thought  you'd  ask 
me  for  it  again,  uncle.  I'd  completely  forgotten  all 
about  it." 

She  seemed  quite  sincere  in  this  amazing  assertion. 

His  acquaintance  with  the  ways  of  women  was 
thus  enlarged,  suddenly,  and  at  the  merely  nominal 
expense  of  twenty-five  pounds.  It  was  a  wondrous 


1 82     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

proof  of  his  high  spirits  and  his  general  contented- 
ness  with  himself  that  he  should  have  submitted  to 
the  robbery  without  a  groan. 

"  What's  twenty-five  pun'  ? "  he  reflected. 
"  There'll  be  no  luggage  for  her  at  Edinburgh ; 
that  steamer'll  go  without  her;  and  then  I  shall  give 
in.  I  shall  talk  to  her  about  the  ways  o'  Provi- 
dence, and  tell  her  it's  borne  in  upon  me  as  she  must 
have  Wilbraham  Hall  if  she's  in  a  mind  to  stay. 
I  shall  save  my  face,  anyhow." 

And  he  further  decided  that,  in  case  of  necessity, 
in  case  of  Helen  at  a  later  stage  pushing  her 'in- 
quiries as  to  the  luggage  inconveniently  far  he  would 
have  to  bribe  the  porter  at  Shawport  to  admit  to 
her  that  he,  the  porter,  had  made  a  mistake  in  the 
labelling. 

When  they  had  satisfied  themselves  that  Edin- 
burgh did  not  contain  Helen's  trunks  —  no  mean 
labour,  for  the  lost  luggage  office  was  closed,  and 
they  had  to  move  mountains  in  order  to  get  it  opened 
on  the  plea  of  extremest  urgency  —  Jimmy  Olleren- 
shaw  turned  to  Susan's  daughter,  saying  to  himself 
that  she  must  be  soothed  regardless  of  cost.  Mira- 
cles would  not  enable  her  to  catch  the  steamer  now, 
and  the  hour  was  fast  approaching  when  he  would 
benevolently  offer  her  the  gift  of  Wilbraham  Hall. 


THE  TOSSING  183 

"  Well,  lass,"  he  began,  "  I'm  right  sorry. 
What's  to  be  done?" 

"  There's  nothing  at  all  to  be  done,"  she  replied, 
smiling  sadly.  She  might  have  upbraided  him  for 
carelessness  in  the  matter  of  the  luggage.  She 
might  have  burst  into  tears  and  declared  passion- 
ately that  it  was  all  his  fault.  But  she  did  not. 
"  Except,  of  course,  that  I  must  cable  to  mother. 
She's  coming  to  Quebec  to  meet  me." 

"  That'll  do  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  What's  to 
be  done  to-night  ?  In  th'  way  o'  supper,  as  ye  might 
say?" 

"  We  must  go  to  an  hotel.  I  believe  the  station 
hotel  is  the  best."  She  pointed  to  a  sign  "and  a 
directing  black  hand  which  said :  "  To  the  hotel." 

In  a  minute  James  Ollerenshaw  found  himself 
in  the  largest  and  most  gorgeous  hotel  in  Scot- 
land. 

"  Look  here,  wench,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know 
as  this  is  much  in  my  line.  Summat  a  thought  less 
gaudy'll  do  for  my  old  bones." 

"  I  won't  move  a  step  farther  this  night !  "  Helen 
declared.  "  I'm  ready  to  drop." 

He  remembered  that  she  must  be  soothed. 

"Well,"  he  said,   "here  goes!" 

And  he   strode   across  the   tessellated  pavement 


1 84    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

under  the  cold,  scrutinizing  eye  of  menials  to  a  large 
window  marked  in  gold  letters :  "  Bureau." 

"  Have  ye  gotten  a  couple  of  bedrooms  like  ?  "  he 
asked  the  clerk. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  clerk  (who  was  a  perfect 
lady) .  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  tell  ye  as  we  want  a  couple  o'  bedrooms, 
miss?" 

After  negotiations  she  pushed  across  the  counter 
to  him, —  two  discs  of  cardboard  numbered  324  and 
326,  each  marked  6s.  6d.  He  regarded  the  price 
as  fantastic,  but  no  cheaper  rooms  were  to  be  had, 
and  Helen's  glance  was  dangerous. 

"  Why,"  he  muttered,  "  I've  got  a  four-roomed 
cottage  empty  at  Turnhill  as  I'd  let  for  a  month 
for  thirteen  shillings,  and  paper  it !  " 

"Where  is  your  luggage,  sir?"  asked  a  muscular 
demon  with  shiny  sleeves. 

"  That's  just  what  we  want  to  know,  young  fel- 
ler," said  Jimmy.  "  For  the  present,  that's  all  as 
we  can  lay  our  hands  on."  And  he  indicated 
Helen's  satchel. 

His  experiences  in  the  lift  were  exciting,  and  he 
suggested  the  laying  of  a  tramway  along  the  corridor 
of  the  fourth  floor.  The  beautiful  starched  crea- 
ture who  brought  in  his  hot  water  (without  being 


THE  TOSSING  185 

asked)  found  him  in  the  dark  struggling  with  'the 
electric  light,  which  he  had  extinguished  from  curi- 
osity and  had  not  been  able  to  rekindle,  having  lost 
the  location  of  the  switch. 

At  10.30  the  travellers  were  seated  at  a  table  in 
the  immense  dining-room,  which  was  populated  by 
fifteen  waiters  of  various  European  nationalities,  and 
six  belated  guests  including  themselves.  The  one 
item  on  the  menu  which  did  not  exceed  his  com- 
prehension was  Welsh  rarebit,  and  he  ordered  it. 

It  was  while  they  were  waiting  in  anticipation  of 
this  dish  that  he  decided  to  commence  operations 
upon  Helen.  The  fact  was,  he  was  becoming  very 
anxious  to  put  affairs  on  a  definite  footing. 

"  Well,  my  girl,"  he  said,  "  cheer  up.  If  ye  tak' 
my  advice  ye'll  make  up  yer  mind  to  stop  i'  owd 
England  with  yer  owd  uncle." 

"Of  course  I  will,"  she  answered,  softly:  and 
added:  "  If  you'll  do  as  I  want." 

"Buy  that  barracks?" 

She  nodded. 

He  was  on  the  very  point  of  yielding;  he  was 
on  the  very  point  of  saying,  with  a  grandfatherly, 
god-like  tone  of  utter  beneficence :  "  Lass,  ye  shall 
have  it.  I  wouldn't  ha'  given  it  ye,  but  it's  like  as 
if  what  must  be  —  this  luggage  being  lost.  It's  like 


1 86     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

as  "if  Providence  was  in  it."  He  was  on  the  very 
point  of  this  decisive  pronouncement,  when  a  novel 
and  dazzling  idea  flashed  into  his  head. 

"  Listen  here,"  he  said,  bending  across  the  table 
towards  her,  "  I'll  toss  thee," 

"Toss  me?  "  she  exclaimed,  startled. 

"  Ay !  I'll  toss  thee,  if  thou'lt  stay.  Heads  I 
buy  the  barracks;  tails  I  don't,  and  you  live  with  me 
in  a  house." 

"  Very  well,"  she  agreed,  lightly. 

He  had  not  really  expected  her  to  agree  to  such 
a  scheme.  But,  then,  young  women  named  Helen 
can  be  trusted  absolutely  to  falsify  expectation. 

He  took  a  sixpence  from  his  pocket. 

"Heads  I  win,  eh?"  he  said. 

She  acquiesced,  and  up  went  the  sixpence. 

It  rolled  off  the  table  on  to  the  Turkey  carpet 
'(Jimmy  was  not  so  adroit  as  he  had  been  in  his 
tossing  days),  and  seven  Austrians,  Germans,  and 
Swiss  sprang  towards  it  with  a  simultaneous  impulse 
to  restore  it  to  its  owner. 

Jimmy  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  Don't  touch  it !  "  he  cried,  and  bent  over  it. 

"  Nay,  nay!  "  he  muttered,  "  I've  lost.  Th'  old 
man's  lost,  after  all!" 


THE  TOSSING  187 

And  he  returned  to  the  table,  having  made  a  sen- 
sation in  the  room. 

Helen  was  in  paradise.  "  I'm  surprised  you  were 
ready  to  toss,  uncle,"  said  she.  "  However,  it's  all 
right;  we  can  get  the  luggage  to-morrow.  It's  at 
Crewe." 

"  How  dost  know  it's  at  Crewe?"  he  demanded, 

"  Because  I  had  it  labelled  for  Crewe.  You 
•were  silly  to  imagine  that  I  was  going  to  leave  you. 
But  I  thought  I'd  just  leave  nothing  undone  to  make 
you  give  way.  I  made  sure  I  was  beaten.  I  made 
sure  I  should  have  to  knuckle  under.  And  now  you 
are  goose  enough  to  toss,  and  you've  lost,  you've 
lost !  Hurrah !  "  She  clapped  her  hands  softly. 

"  Do  ye  mean  to  tell  me,"  Jimmy  thundered,  "  as 
ye've  been  playing  a  game  wi'  me  all  this  time?  " 

"  Of  course."     She  had  no  shame. 

"  And  bought  th'  steamer-ticket  without  meaning 
to  go?" 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  it's  no  good  halfplaying 
when  you're  playing  for  high  stakes.  Besides, 
what's  fifteen  pounds?  " 

He  did  not  let  her  into  the  secret  that  he  also 
had  ordered  the  luggage  to  be  labelled  for  Crewe. 
They  returned  to  the  Five  Towns  the  following 


1 88     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

morning.     And    by    mutual    tacit    agreement    they 
never  spoke  of  that  excursion  to  Scotland. 

In  such  manner  came  Helen  Rathbone  to  be  tKq 
mistress  of  Wilbraham  Hall. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    FLITTING 

BEFORE  the  spacious  crimson  fagade  of  Wilbraham 
Hall  upon  an  autumn  day  stood  Mr.  Crump's  pan- 
technicon. That  is  to  say,  it  was  a  pantechnicon  only 
by  courtesy  —  Mr.  Crump's  courtesy.  In  strict  ad- 
herence to  truth  it  was  just  a  common  furniture-re- 
moving van,  dragged  over  the  earth's  surface  by 
two  horses.  On  the  outer  walls  of  it  were  an  an- 
nouncement that  Mr.  Crump  removed  goods  by 
road,  rail  or  steamer,  and  vast  coloured  pictures  of 
Mr.  Crump  removing  goods  by  road,  rail  and 
steamer.  One  saw  the  van  in.  situations  of  grave 
danger  —  travelling  on  an  express  train  over  a  lofty 
viaduct  at  sixty  miles  an  hour,  or  rolling  on  the  deck 
of  a  steamer  in  a  stormy  sea.  One  saw  it  also  in 
situations  of  impressive  natural  beauty  —  as,  for  in- 
stance, passing  by  road  through  terrific  mountain 
defiles,  where  cataracts  rushed  and  foamed.  The 
historic  fact  was  that  the  van  had  never  been  be- 
yond the  Five  Towns.  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Crump 
bound  himself  in  painted  letters  six  inches  high  to 
189 


i9o     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

furnish  estimates  for  any  removal  whatsoever;  and, 
what  is  more,  as  a  special  boon  to  the  Five  Towns, 
to  furnish  estimates  free  of  charge.  In  this  detail 
Mr.  Crump  had  determined  not  to  lag  behind  his 
fellow-furniture-removers,  who,  one  and  all,  persist 
in  refusing  to  accept  even  a  small  fee  for  telling  you 
how  much  they  demand  for  their  services. 

In  the  van  were  the  entire  worldly  possessions  of 
James  Ollerenshaw  (except  his  houses,  his  invest- 
ments, a  set  of  bowls  up  at  the  bowling  club,  and 
the  clothes  he  wore),  and  the  entire  worldly  pos- 
sessions of  Helen  Rathbone  (except  the  clothes  she 
wore).  If  it  be  asked  where  was  the  twenty-six 
pounds  so  generously  given  to  her  by  a  loving  uncle, 
the  reply  is  that  the  whole  sum,  together  with  much 
else,  was  in  the  coffers  of  Ezra  Brunt,  the  draper 
and  costumier  at  Hanbridge;  and  the  reply  further 
is  that  Helen  was  in  debt.  I  have  hitherto  concealed 
Helen's  tendency  to  debts,  but  it  was  bound  sooner 
or  later  to  come  out.  And  here  it  is. 

After  an  adventurous  journey  by  bridge  over 
the  North  Staffordshire  Railway,  and  by  bridge  over 
the  Shropshire  Union  Canal,  and  by  bridge  over  the 
foaming  cataract  of  the  Shaws  Brook,  and  down 
the  fearful  slants  of  Oldcastle-street,  and  through 
the  arduous  terrific  defiles  of  Oldcastle-road,  the  van 


THE  FLITTING  191 

had  arrived  at  the  portals  of  Wilbraham  Hall.  It 
would  have  been  easy,  by  opening  wide  the  portals, 
to  have  introduced  the  van  and  the  horses  too  into 
the  hall  of  Wilbraham  Hall.  But  this  course  was 
not  adopted. 

Helen  and  Georgiana  had  preceded  the  van,  and 
they  both  stood  at  the  door  to  receive  the  goods. 
Georgiana  was  in  one  of  Georgiana's  aprons,  and 
Helen  also  was  in  one  of  Georgiana's  aprons. 
Uncle  James  had  followed  the  van.  He  had  not 
let  it  out  of  his  sight.  The  old  man's  attachment 
to  even  the  least  of  his  goods  was  touching,  and  his 
attachment  to  the  greatest  of  his  goods  carried 
pathos  into  farce.  The  greatest  of  his  goods  was, 
apparently,  the  full-rigged  ship  and  tempestuous 
ocean  in  a  glass  box  which  had  stood  on  the  table 
in  the  front  room  of  the  other  house  for  many  years. 
No  one  had  suspected  his  esteem  for  that  glass  box 
and  its  contents.  He  had  not  suspected  it  himself 
until  the  moment  for  packing  it  had  come.  But 
he  seemed  to  love  it  more  than  his  bits  of  Spode 
china  or  his  concertina;  and,  taking  it  with  him,  he 
had  quitted  with  a  softened  regret  the  quantity  of 
over-blown  blue  roses  which,  in  their  eternal  bloom, 
had  enlivened  his  existence  during  a  longer  period 
even  than  the  ship  and  ocean. 


1 92     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

The  ship  and  ocean  was  the  last  thing  put  into 
the  van  and  the  first  thing  taken  out,  and  James 
Ollerenshaw  introduced  the  affair,  hugged  against 
his  own  breast,  into  the  house  of  his  descendants. 
The  remainder  of  the  work  of  transference  was 
relatively  unimportant.  Two  men  accomplished  it 
easily  while  the  horses  ate  a  late  dinner.  And  then 
the  horses  and  the  van  and  the  men  went  off,  and 
there  was  nothing  left  but  a  few  wisps  of  straw 
and  so  forth,  on  the  magnificent  sweep  of  gravel, 
to  indicate  that  they  had  ever  been  there.  And 
Uncle  James,  and  Helen,  and  Georgiana  felt  rather 
forlorn  and  abandoned.  They  stood  in  the  hall  and 
looked  at  each  other  a  little  blankly,  like  gipsies 
camping  out  in  an  abandoned  cathedral.  An  im- 
mense fire  was  burning  in  the  immense  fireplace  of 
the  hall,  and  similar  fires  were  burning  in  the  state 
bedroom,  in  a  little  drawing-room  beyond  the  main 
drawing-room,  in  another  bedroom,  in  the  giant's 
kitchen,  and  in  one  of  the  attics.  These  fires  and  a 
certain  amount  of  cleaning  were  the  only  prepara- 
tions which  Helen  had  permitted  herself  to  make. 
Even  the  expense  of  the  coal  had  startled  James, 
and  she  proposed  to  get  him  safely  in  the  cage  be- 
fore commencing  the  serious  business  which  would 
shatter  all  his  nerves.  .  By  a  miracle  of  charm  and 


THE  FLITTING  193 

audacity  she  had  obtained  from  him  the  control  of  a 
sum  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  This  sum, 
now  lying  nominally  to  her  credit  at  one  of  James's 
various  banks,  represented  the  difference  between 
eight  thousand  pounds  (at  which  James  had  said 
Wilbraham  Hall  would  be  cheap)  and  seven  thou- 
sand two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  (at  which  James 
had  succeeded  in  buying  Wilbraham  Hall). 

To  the  left  of  the  Hall,  near  the  entrance,  was 
quite  a  small  room   (originally,  perhaps,  a  butler's 
lair),    and   James   was   obstinate    in   selecting   this 
room  as  his  office.     He  had  his  desk  carried  there, 
and   everything    that   personally    affected   him,    ex- 
cept   his    safe    and   the   simple    necessaries    of   his 
bedroom.     These  were  taken,  not  to  the  state  bed- 
room, which  he  had  declined,  after  insincere  pres- 
sure from  Helen  to  accept  it,  but  to  a  much  smaller 
sleeping-chamber.     The  numerous  family  of  Wind- 
sor chairs,   together   with   other   ancient   honesties, 
were  sent  up  to  attics  —  too  old  at  forty!  Georgi- 
ana  was  established  in  a  glorious  attic;  the  state 
bedroom  was  strewn  with  Helen's  gear;  and  scarcely 
anything  remained  unniched  in  the  Hall  save  the 
ship  and  ocean.     They  all  rested  from  their  labours, 
and  Helen  was  moved  by  one  of  her  happiest  in- 
spirations. 


i94    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  Georgiana,"  she  said,  "  go  and  make  some  tea. 
Bring  a  cup  for  yourself." 

"  Yes,  miss.     Thank  you,  miss." 

On  removal  days  miserable  distinctions  of  class 
are  invariably  lost  in  the  large-heartedness  of  mutual 
endeavour. 

It  was  while  the  trio  were  thus  drinking  tea 
together,  standing,  and,  as  it  were,  with  loins  still 
girt  after  the  pilgrimage,  that  the  first  visitor  to  the 
new  owners  of  Wilbraham  Hall  rang  its  great  bell 
and  involved  Georgiana  in  her  first  ceremonial  duty. 
Georgiana  was  quite  nervous  as  she  went  to  the  door. 

The  caller  was  Emanuel  Prockter. 

"  Mother  thought  I  might  perhaps  be  able  to 
help  you,"  said  he,  in  the  slightly  simpering  tone 
which  he  adopted  in  delicate  situations,  and  which 
he  thought  suited  him.  What  made  the  situation 
delicate,  to  him,  was  Helen's  apron  —  quite  agree- 
ble  though  the  apron  was.  He  felt,  with  his  un- 
erring perceptiveness,  that  young  ladies  do  not  care 
to  receive  young  gentlemen  in  the  apron  of  a 
Georgiana.  His  own  attire  was,  as  usual,  fabu- 
lously correct;  the  salient  features  of  it  being  a  pair 
of  light  yellow  chamois  gloves,  loose-fitting  and  un- 
buttoned, with  the  gauntlets  negligently  turned  back. 
These  gloves  were  his  method  of  expressing  the  fact 


THE  FLITTING  I95 

that  the  visit  was  a  visit  of  usefulness  and  not  a  kid- 
glove  visit.  But  Helen  seemed  quite  composed 
behind  Georgiana's  apron. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  with  smiling  inanity,  after 
he  had  shaken  hands.  "  Mother  thought  I  might 
help  you." 

("  What  a  fool  that  woman  is!  "  reflected  James. 
"  And  what  a  fool  he  is  to  put  it  on  to  his  mother 
instead  of  keeping  it  to  himself!  ") 

"And  what  did  you  think,  Mr.  Prockter? " 
Helen  demanded.  "Another  cup  and  saucer, 
Georgiana." 

Helen's  question  was  one  of  her  insolent  questions. 

("Perhaps  his  mother  ain't  such  a  fool!"  re- 
flected James.  And  he  perceived,  or  imagined  he 
perceived,  that  their  fears  of  Helen  marrying 
Emanuel  were  absurd.) 

Emanuel  sniffed  humour  in  the  air.  He  never 
understood  humour;  but  he  was,  at  any  rate 
sufficiently  gifted  with  the  wisdom  of  the  simple  to 
smile  vaguely  and  amiably  when  he  sniffed  humour. 

And  then  Helen  said,  with  cordial  kindliness: 
"  It's  awfully  good  of  you  —  awfully  good  of  you. 
Here  we  are,  you  see !  " 

And  the  degree  of  cordiality  was  such  that  the 
fear  of  her  marrying  Emanuel  suddenly  seemed  less 


i96    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

absurd  to  James.  The  truth  was  that  James  never 
had  a  moment's  peace  of  mind  with  Helen.  She 
was  continually  proving  that  as  a  student  in  the 
University  of  Human  Nature  he  had  not  even 
matriculated. 

Georgiana  appeared  with  an  odd  cup  and  saucer, 
and  a  giggling  statement  that  she  had  not  been  able 
to  discover  any  more  teaspoons. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Helen.  "Mr.  Prockter 
shall  have  mine." 

("Well,  I'm  hanged!  "  reflected  James.) 

Whereupon  Georgiana  departed,  bearing  her  own 
tea,  into  the  giant's  kitchen.  The  miserable  distinc- 
tions of  class  had  been  mysteriously  established. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AND   OCEAN 


THE  host,  the  hostess,  and  the  guest  all  remained 
on  their  feet  in  the  noble  hall  of  the  Wilbrahams,  it 
not  being  good  etiquette  to  sit  at  removals,  even 
when  company  calls.  Emanuel,  fortunately  for  him, 
was  adept  at  perambulation  with  a  full  cup  of  tea 
in  one  hand  and  a  hat  or  so  in  the  other.  There 
were  two  things  which  he  really  could  do  —  one  was 
to  sing  a  sentimental  song  without  laughing,  and  the 
other  was  to  balance  a  cup  of  tea.  And  it  was  only 
when  he  was  doing  the  one  or  the  other  that  he 
genuinely  lived.  During  the  remainder  of  his 
existence  he  was  merely  a  vegetable  inside  a  waist- 
coat. He  held  his  cup  without  a  tremor  while 
Helen  charmingly  introduced  into  it  her  teaspoon 
and  stirred  up  the  sugar.  Then,  after  he  had 
sipped  and  pronounced  the  result  excellent,  he  be- 
gan to  admire  the  Hall  and  the  contents  of  the  Hall. 
A  proof  of  his  real  Christian  charity  was  that, 
whereas  he  had  meant  to  have  that  Hall  for  him- 
self, he  breathed  no  word  of  envy  nor  discontent. 
197 


i98     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

He  praised  everything;  and  presently  he  arrived 
at  the  ship  and  ocean,  and  praised  that.  He 
particularly  praised  the  waves. 

The  heart  of  James  instantly  and  instinctively 
softened  towards  him.  For  the  realism  of,  those 
foaming  waves  had  always  struck  James  as  the  final 
miracle  of  art.  And,  moreover,  this  was  the  first 
time  that  any  of  Helen's  haughty  "  set "  had  ever 
deigned  to  recognise  the  merits  of  the  ship  and 
ocean. 

"Where  shouldst  hang  it,  Master  Prockter?" 
James  genially  asked. 

"Hang  it,  uncle?"  exclaimed  Helen.  "Are 
you  going  to  hang  it?  Aren't  you  going  to  keep 
it  on  the  table  in  your  own  room?" 

She  was  hoping  that  it  might  occupy  a  position 
not  too  prominent.  She  did  not  intend  it  to  be  th.e 
central  decorative  attraction  of  the  palace. 

"  It  ought  to  be  hung,"  said  Emanuel. 

"  See,  here  are  the  little  iron  things  for  the  nails." 

This  gift  of  observation  pleased  James.  Eman- 
uel was  indeed  beginning  to  show,  quite  an  intelli- 
gent interest  in  the  ship  and  ocean. 

"  Of  course  it  must  be  hung,"  said  he. 

He  was  very  human,  was  Jimmy  Ollerenshaw. 
For  at  least  twenty-five  years  he  had  possessed  the 


SHIP  AND  OCEAN  199 

ship  and  ocean,  and  cherished  it,  always  meaning 
one  day  to  hang  it  against  the  wall  as  it  deserved. 
And  yet  he  had  never  arrived  at  doing  so,  though 
the  firm  resolution  to  do  so  had  not  a  whit  weak- 
ened in  his  mind.  And  now  he  was  absolutely  de- 
cided, with  the  whole  force  of  his  will  behind  him, 
to  hang  the  ship  and  ocean  at  once. 

"  There  I  Under  the  musicians'  gallery  wouldn't 
be  a  bad  place,  would  it,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  ? " 
Emanuel  suggested,  respectfully. 

James  trained  his  eye  on  the  spot.  "  The  very 
thing,  lad !  "  said  he,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Lad !  "  Helen  had  not  recovered  from  a 
private  but  extreme  astonishment  at  this  singular 
mark  of  paternal  familiarity  to  Emanuel  when  there 
was  another  and  a  far  louder  ring  at  the  door. 

Georgiana  minced  and  tripped  out  of  her  retreat, 
and  opened  the  majestic  portal  to  a  still  greater 
surprise  for  Helen.  The  ringer  was  Mr.  Andrew 
Dean  —  Mr.  Andrew  Dean  with  his  dark,  quasi- 
hostile  eyes,  and  his  heavy  shoulders,  and  his  de- 
fiant, suspicious  bearing  —  Mr.  Andrew  Dean  in! 
workaday  clothes  and  with  hands^  that  could  not  be 
called  clean.  Andrew  stared  about  him  like  a 
scout,  and  then  advanced  rapidly  to  Helen  and 
seized  her  hand,  hurting  it. 


200    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  I  was  just  passing,"  said  he,  in  a  hoarse  voice. 
"  I  expected  you'd  be  in  a  bit  of  a  mess,  so  I  thought 
I  might  be  useful.  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Olleren- 
shaw?  "  And  he  hurt  James's  hand  also. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you,"  Helen  remarked,  flush- 
ing. 

"  How  do,  Prockter? "  Andrew  jerked  out  at 
Emanuel,  not  taking  his  hand. 

This  abstention  on  Andrew's  part  from  physical 
violence  was  capable  of  two  interpretations.  The 
natural  interpretation  was  that  Andrew's  social 
methods  were  notoriously  casual  and  capricious. 
The  interesting  interpretation  was  that  a  failure  of 
the  negotiations  between  Emanuel  and  Andrew  for 
a  partnership  —  a  failure  which  had  puzzled 
Bursley  —  had  left  rancour  behind  it. 

Emanuel,  however,  displayed  no  symptom  of  be- 
ing disturbed.  His  blandness  remained  intact. 
Nevertheless,  the  atmosphere  was  mysteriously 
electric.  Helen  felt  it  to  be  so,  and  an  atmosphere 
•which  is  deemed  to  be  electric  by  even  one  person 
only,  ipso  facto,  is  electric.  As  for  James  Olleren- 
shaw,  he  was  certainly  astonished  by  the  visit  of 
Andrew  Dean;  but,  being  absorbed  in  the  welfare 
of  his  ship  and  ocean,  he  permitted  his  astonishment 
to  dissolve  in  a  vague  satisfaction  that,  anyhow, 


SHIP  AND  OCEAN  201 

Helen's  unexplained  quarrel  with  Andrew  Dean  was 
really  at  an  end.  This  call  was  assuredly  Andrew's 
way  of  expiatory  repentance. 

"The  very  thing!"  he  repeated,  glancing  at 
Emanuel  as  if  in  expectation. 

Emanuel  did  not  seem  to  comprehend  that  aught 
was  expected  of  him.  He  amiably  stood,  with 
hands  still  appropriately  gloved,  and  his  kindly 
glance  wandered  between  the  ship  and  ocean  and 
the  spot  which  he  had  hit  on  for  the  ship  and  ocean's 
last  resting-place. 

"Where's  th'  steps,  Helen?"  James  inquired, 
and,  after  a  brief  silence :  "  Georgiana ! "  he 
yelled. 

The  girl  flew  in. 

"  Bring  us  a  pair  o'  steps,"  said  he. 

Followed  an  unsuccessful  search  for  the  pair  of 
steps,  which  Andrew  Dean  ultimately  discovered  in 
a  corner  of  the  hall  itself,  lying  flat  behind  a  vast 
roll  of  carpet  which  was  included  in  the  goods  pur- 
chased for  seven  thousand  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds.  The  steps  being  found,  Georgiana  ex- 
plained at  length  how  she  distinctly  remembered  see- 
ing one  of  the  men  put  them  behind  the  roll  of 
carpet. 

"Now,   what   is   it?"    Andrew   vigorously   ques- 


202     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

tioned.  He  was  prepared,  evidently,  to  do  any- 
thing that  a  man  may  do  with  a  pair  of  steps. 
When  the  operation  was  indicated  to  him,  his  first 
act  was  to  take  off  his  coat,  which  he  threw  on  the 
floor. 

"Hammer!  Nails!"  he  ejaculated.  And 
Georgiana,  intimidated  by  his  tone,  contrived  to 
find  both  hammer  and  *  nails.  It  is  true  that  the 
hammer  was  a  coal  hammer. 

And  in  a  remarkably  short  space  of  time  he  was 
balanced  on  the  summit  of  the  steps  with  a  nail  in 
one  hand,  a  hammer  in  the  other,  a  pencil  behind 
his  ear,  and  another  nail  in  his  mouth.  The  other 
three  encircled  him  from  below,  with  upturned  faces 
and  open  mouths,  like  young  birds  expecting  food. 
(Not  that  young  birds  expecting  food  wear  gloves 
so  appropriate  to  the  occasion  as  were  Emanuel's.) 
James  Ollerenshaw  was  impressed  by  the  workman- 
like manner  in  which  Andrew  measured  the  width  of 
the  glass  box  and  marked  it  off  on  the  wall  before 
beginning  to  knock  nails.  The  presence  of  one  nail 
in  Andrew's  mouth  while  he  was  knocking  in  the 
other  with  a  coal  hammer,  prevented  him  from  out- 
raging the  social  code  when  the  coal  hammer  em- 
braced his  fingers  as  well  as  the  nail  in  the  field  of 


SHIP  AND  OCEAN  203 

its  activity.  Unhappily,  when  it  came  to  the  second 
nail,  no  such  hindrance  operated. 

The  nails,  having  been  knocked  in,  were  duly  and 
satisfactorily  tested. 

Then  solemnly  James  seized  the  glass  box  con- 
taining the  ship  and  ocean,  and  bore  it  with  all 
possible  precautions  to  the  pair  of  steps  in  front  of 
the  great  doors.  Andrew  descended  two  storeys, 
and,  bending  his  body,  received  the  box  from  James 
as  a  parson  receives  a  baby  at  the  font.  He  then 
remounted.  The  steps  rocked. 

"  I'd  happen  better  hold  'em,"  said  James. 

"  It'll  be  all  right,"  said  Andrew. 

"  I'll  hold  them,"  said  Emanuel,  hastening  for- 
ward. 

The  precise  cause  of  the  accident  will  probably 
never  be  known,  but  no  sooner  did  Emanuel  lay  his 
gloved  hand  on  the  steps  than  the  whole  edifice,  con- 
sisting of  steps,  Andrew,  and  ship  and  ocean  tottered 
and  fell. 

"  Clumsy  fool !  "  Andrew  was  distinctly  heard  to 
exclaim  during  his  swift  passage  to  the  floor. 

The  ship  and  ocean  were  incurably  disintegrated 
into  a  mess  of  coloured  cardboard,  linen,  and  sticks. 

And  catastrophes  even  more  dreadful  might  have 


204    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

occurred  had  it  not  been  for  the  calm  and  wise  tact 
of  Helen.  Where  a  person  is  pleased  by  an  event, 
that  person  can  usually,  without  too  much  difficulty, 
exercise  a  calm  and  wise  tact  upon  other  persons 
whom  the  event  has  not  pleased.  And  Helen  was 
delighted  by  the  catastrophe  to  the  ship  and  ocean. 
The  ship  and  ocean  had  formed  no  part  in  her 
scheme  for  the  decoration  of  the  hall;  her  one  poor 
solace  had  been  that  the  relative  proportions  of  the 
hall  and  of  the  ship  and  ocean  were  such  that  even 
a  careful  observer  might  have  spent  hours  in  the 
former  without  discovering  the  latter;  on  the  other 
hand,  some  blundering  ninny  might  have  lighted  in- 
stantly on  the  ship  and  ocean,  and  awkwardly  in- 
quired what  it  was  doing  there.  So  Helen  was 
really  enchanted  by  the  ruin.  She  handled  her  men 
with  notable  finesse:  Uncle  James  savage  and 
vindictive,  but  uncertain  upon  whom  to  pour  out  his 
anger;  Emanuel  nursing  his  injured  innocence;  and 
Andrew  Dean  nursing  his  elbow,  his  head,  and  venge- 
ance. She  also  found  a  moment  in  which  to  calm 
Georgiana,  who  had  run  flying  and  hysterical  into 
the  hall  at  the  sound  of  the  smash. 

Even  the  steps  were  broken. 

After  a  time  harmony  was  established,  both 
Uncle  James  and  Emanuel  being,  at  bottom,  men 


SHIP  AND  OCEAN  205 

of  peace.  But  it  was  undeniable  that  Uncle  James 
had  lost  more  than  gold,  and  that  Emanuel  had  been 
touched  in  a  perilous  place  —  his  conceit  of  himself. 

Then  Georgiana  swept  up  the  ship  and  ocean,  and 
James  retired  to  his  own  little  room,  where  he  as- 
sumed his  Turkish  cap,  and  began  to  arrange  his 
personal  effects  in  a  manner  definite  and  final,  which 
would  be  a  law  for  ever  to  the  servants  of  Wilbra- 
ham  Hall. 

Left  with  the  two  young  men,  Helen  went  from 
triumph  to  triumph.  In  quite  a  few  minutes  she 
had  them  actually  talking  to  each  other.  And  she 
ended  by  speeding  them  away  together.  And  by 
the  time  they  departed  each  was  convinced  that 
Georgiana's  apron,  on  Helen,  was  one  of  the  most 
bewitching  manifestations  of  the  inexpressibly 
feminine  that  he  had  ever  been  privileged  to  see. 

They  took  themselves  off  by  a  door  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  hall  behind  the  stairs,  whence  there  was  a 
short  cut  through  the  undulating  grounds  to  the 
main  road. 

Helen  ascended  to  the  state  bedroom,  where  there 
was  simply  everything  to  be  done;  Georgiana  fol- 
lowed her,  after  having  made  up  the  fires,  and, 
while  helping  to  unpack  boxes,  offered  gossamer 
hints  —  fluffy,  scarcely  palpable,  elusive  things  — 


206     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

to  her  mistress  that  her  real  ambition  had  always 
been  to  be  a  lady's-maid,  and  to  be  served  at  meals 
by  the  third,  or  possibly  the  fourth,  housemaid. 
And  the  hall  of  Wilbraham  Hall  was  abandoned 
for  a  space  to  silence  and  solitude. 

Now,  the  window  of  Uncle  James's  little  room 
was  a  little  window  that  lived  modestly  between  the 
double  pillars  of  the  portico  and  the  first  window  of 
the  great  dining-room.  Resting  from  his  labours 
of  sorting  and  placing,  he  gazed  forth  at  his  domain, 
and  mechanically  calculated  what  profit  would  ac- 
crue to  him  if  he  cut  off  a  slip  a  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  deep  along  by  the  Oldcastle-road,  and  sold  it 
in  lots  for  villas,  or  built  villas  and  sold  them  on 
ninety-nine-year  leases.  He  was  engaged  in  his  happy 
exercise  of  mental  arithmetic  when  he  heard  foot- 
steps crunching  the  gravel,  and  then  a  figure,  which 
had  evidently  come  round  by  the  north  side  from 
the  back  of  the  Hall,  passed  across  the  field  of 
James's  vision.  This  figure  was  a  walking  baptism 
to  the  ground  it  trod.  It  dripped  water  plenteously. 
It  was,  in  a  word,  soaked,  and  its  garments  clung 
to  it.  Its  yellow  chamois  gloves  clung  to  its 
hands.  It  had  no  hat.  It  hesitated  in  front  of  the 
entrance. 

Uncle  James  pushed  up  his  window.     "What's 


SHIP  AND  OCEAN  207 

amiss,  lad?"  he  inquired,  with  a  certain  blandness 
of  satisfaction. 

"  I  fell  into  the  Water,"  said  Emanuel,  feebly, 
meaning  the  sheet  known  as  Wilbraham  Water, 
which  diversified  the  park-like  splendours  of  Wil- 
braham Hall. 

"  How  didst  manage  that?  " 

"  The  path  is  very  muddy  and  slippery  just 
there,"  said  Emanuel. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  run  home  as  quick  as  may 
be?"  James  suggested. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Emanuel. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I've  got  no  hat,  and  I'm  all  wet.  And  every- 
body in  Oldcastle-road  will  see  me.  Can  you  lend 
me  a  hat  and  coat?" 

And  all  the  while  he  was  steadily  baptising  the 
gravel. 

Uncle  James's  head  disappeared  for  a  moment, 
and  then  he  threw  out  of  the  window  a  stiff  yellow 
mackintosh  of  great  age.  It  was  his  rent-collecting 
mackintosh.  It  had  the  excellent  quality  of  match- 
ing the  chamois  gloves. 

Emanuel  thankfully  took  it.  "And  what  about 
a  cap  or  something?"  he  plaintively  asked. 

"  Tak'  this,"  said  Uncle  James,  with  remarkable 


»o8     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

generosity  whipping  the  Turkish  cap  from  his  own 
head,  and  handing  it  to  Emanuel. 

Emanuel  hesitated,  then  accepted;  and,  thus 
uniquely  attired,  sped  away,  still  baptising. 

At  tea  (tea  proper)  James  recounted  this  episode 
to  a  somewhat  taciturn  and  preoccupied  Helen. 

"He  didn't  fall  into  the  Water,"  said  Helen, 
curtly.  "  Andrew  Dean  pushed  him  in." 

"  How  dost  know  that?  " 

"  Gcorgiana  and  I  saw  it  from  my  bedroom  win- 
dow. It  was  she  who  first  saw  them  fighting, 
or  at  any  rate  arguing.  Then  Andrew  Dean 
*  charged '  him  in,  as  if  they  were  playing  football, 
and  walked  on;  and  Emanuel  Prockter  scrambled 
out." 

"  H'm !  "  reflected  James.  "  Well,  if  ye  ask  me, 
lass,  Emanuel  brought  that  on  himsen.  I  never 
seed  a  man  look  a  bigger  foo'  than  Emanuel  looked 
when  he  went  off  in  my  mackintosh  and  Turkish 
cap." 

"Your  Turkish  cap?" 

"  One  of  'em." 

"With  the  tassel?" 

"Ay!" 

"It's  a  great  shame!     That's  what  it  is!     I'm 


SHIP  AND  OCEAN  209 

sure  he  didn't  look  a  fool!  He's  been  very  badly 
treated,  and  I'll  — " 

She  rose  from  the  table,  in  sudden  and  speech- 
less indignation. 

"You  should  ha'  seen  him,  lass!"  said  James, 
and  added:  "I  wish  ye  had!"  He  tried  to  be 
calm.  But  she  had  sprung  on  him  another  of  her 
disconcerting  surprises.  Was  it,  after  all,  possible, 
conceivable,  that  she  was  in  love  with  Emanuel? 

She  sat  down  again.  "  I  know  why  you  say  that, 
uncle  " —  she  looked  him  in  the  face,  and  put  her  el- 
bows on  the  table.  "Now,  just  listen  to  me!" 

Highly  perturbed,  he  wondered  what  was  coming 
next. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CONFESSIONAL 

"WHAT'S  the  matter  with  Emanuel  Prockter?" 
Helen  asked;  meaning,  what  were  the  implied  faults 
of  Emanuel  Prockter. 

There  was  defiance  in  her  tone.  She  had  risen 
from  the  table,  and  she  had  sat  down  again,  and 
she  seemed  by  her  pose  to  indicate  that  she  had  sat 
down  again  with  a  definite  purpose,  a  purpose  to  do 
grievous  harm  to  the  soul's  peace  of  anybody  who 
differed  from  the  statements  which  she  was  about 
to  enunciate,  or  who  gave  the  wrong  sort  of  answers 
to  her  catechism.  She  was  wearing  her  black 
mousseline  dress  (theoretically  "done  with"), 
which  in  its  younger  days  always  had  the  effect  of 
rousing  the  grande  dame  in  her.  She  laid  her  ring- 
less  hands,  lightly  clasped,  on  a  small,  heavy,  round 
mahogany  table  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
little  drawing-room,  and  she  looked  over  James's 
shoulder  into  the  vistas  of  the  great  drawing-room. 
The  sombre,  fading  magnificence  of  the  Wilbrahams 
—  a  magnificence  of  dark  woods,  tasselled  curtains 

210 


CONFESSIONAL  211 

reps,  and  gilt  —  was  her  theatre,  and  the  theatre 
suited  her  mood. 

Still,  Jimmy  Ollerenshaw,  somewhat  embittered 
by  the  catastrophe  of  the  afternoon,  conceived  that 
he  was  not  going  to  be  browbeaten. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Emanuel  Prockter," 
said  he,  "  is  as  he's  probably  gotten  a  cold  by  this." 

"Yes,  and  you're  glad!"  Helen  retorted. 
"  You  think  he  looked  a  fool  after  he'd  been  in  the 
water.  And  you  were  glad." 

"  I  dunna'  think,"  said  James,  "  I'm  sure." 

"But  why  should  you  be  glad?  That's  what  I 
want  to  know." 

James  could  not  sagaciously  reply  to  this  query. 
lie  merely  scratched  his  head,  tilting  one  of  his 
[Turkish  caps  to  that  end. 

"  The  fact  is,"  she  cried,  with  a  grammatical 
carelessness  which  was  shocking  in  a  woman  who 
had  professed  to  teach  everything,  "  every  one  has 
got  their  knives  into  Emanuel  Prockter.  And  it's 
simply  because  he's  good-looking  and  well-dressed 
and  sings  beautifully." 

"  Good-looking!  "  murmured  James. 

"Well,  isn't  he?" 

"  He's  pretty,"  said  James. 

"  No  one,  ever  said  he  had  a  lot  of  brains  — " 


212     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  I  never  did,"  James  put  in. 

"  But  what  does  that  matter  ?  He  is  polite. 
He  does  know  how  to  behave  himself  in  polite  so- 
ciety. If  Andrew  Dean  pushed  him  into  the  water, 
that  wasn't  his  fault.  Andrew  is  stronger  than  he 
is,  but  that's  no  credit  to  Andrew  Dean.  It's  to 
his  discredit.  Andrew  Dean  is  nothing  but  a  bully 
—  we  all  know  that.  He  might  have  pushed  you 
into  the  water,  or  me." 

"  He  might,"  James  admitted,  "  if  I'd  been  silly 
enough  to  get  between  the  water  and  him." 

"  And  I  should  like  to  know  who  looked  a  fool 
when  Andrew  Dean  fell  off  those  steps.  And  just 
listen  to  the  language  the  man  used.  I  will  say  this 
for  Emanuel  Prockter  —  I  never  heard  him  swear." 

"  No,"  said  James.  "  He  wears  gloves.  He 
even  wears  'em  when  he  takes  his  bath  of  a  Novem- 
ber afternoon." 

"  I  don't  care  who  knows  it,"  Helen  observed, 
hotly,  "  I  like  Emanuel  Prockter." 

"  There's  nobody  as  dunna'  know  it,"  said  James. 
"  It's  the  talk  of  Bosley  as  you've  set  your  cap  at 
him." 

"  I  don't  wear  caps,"  said  Helen.  "  I'm  not  a 
servant." 

"Hat,  then,"  James  corrected  himself.     "  Ye'll 


CONFESSIONAL  213 

not  deny  as  you  wear  hats,  I  reckon.  I've  seen  ye 
in  forty." 

"  I  know  who  started  that  tale,"  Helen  exploded. 
"  Andrew  Dean  started  that  tale." 

"  No,"  said  James.  "  It  was  Mrs.  Prockter,  I'm 
thinking." 

"  Has  Mrs.  Prockter  spoken  to  you  about  me 
and  —  and  Emanuel?  " 

James  hesitated.  But  the  devil-may-care,  agree- 
ably vicious  Ollerenshaw  impulses  were  afoot  in 
him,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  long. 

"  Her  has,"  said  he. 

"  What  a  ridiculous,  fat  old  woman  she  is,  with 
her  fancies !  " 

Frankly,  James  did  not  like  this.  He  was  in  a 
mind  to  resent  it,  and  then  a  certain  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  prompted  him  to  seek  cover  in  silence. 
But  in  any  battle  of  the  sexes  silence  is  no  cover 
to  the  male,  as  he  ought  to  have  known. 

Helen  pursued  him  behind  his  cover.  "  I  wonder 
who  she's  setting  her  cap  at!  I  suppose  you'll  not 
deny  that  she  wears  a  cap  ?  " 

It  was  quite  a  long  time  since  James  Ollerenshaw 
had  blushed;  but  he  blushed  at  these  words.  Noth- 
ing could  have  been  more  foolish,  inept,  on  his  part. 
Why  should  he  blush  because  Helen  expressed  a 


2i4     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

vague,  hostile  curiosity  as  to  the  direction  of  Mrs. 
Prockter's  cap?  What  had  the  direction  of  Mrs. 
Prockter's  cap  to  do  with  him?  Yet  blush  he  did. 
He  grew  angry,  not  —  curiously  enough  —  with 
Helen,  but  with  himself  and  with  Mrs.  Prockter. 
His  anger  had  the  strange  effect  of  making  him  an 
arrant  coward.  He  got  up  from  his  chair,  having 
pushed  away  his  cup  towards  the  centre  of  the  table. 
As  tea  was  over  he  was  within  his  rights  in  doing 
so. 

"  I  mun  be  getting  to  work  again,"  he  muttered. 

"  Please  do  wait  a  minute,  uncle,"  she  said,  im- 
periously. "  Can't  you  see  I  want  to  talk  to  you? 
Can't  you  see  I've  got  something  on  my  mind  ?  " 

Deliberately  challenged  in  this  way,  the  formid- 
able James  was  no  more  than  a  sheep  to  the  shearer. 
Until  he  met  Helen,  he  had  perhaps  never  received 
deliberate,  audacious  challenges,  and  even  now  he 
was  far  from  being  accustomed  to  them.  So  he  just 
stood  foolishly  near  his  chair. 

"  I  can't  talk  to  you  while  you're  standing  up," 
she  said. 

So  he  sat  down.  How  simple  it  ought  to  have 
been  for  him  to  exert  authority  over  Helen,  to  tell 
her  fiercely  that  he  had  no  intention  of  being  talked 


CONFESSIONAL  2155 

to  like  that,  and  that  if  she  persisted  in  such  tactics 
the  front  door  was  at  her  entire  disposal !  She  had 
no  claim  on  him.  Yet  he  ate  his  humble  pie  and  sat 
down. 

"  So  they  are  saying  that  there  is  something  be- 
tween Emanuel  Prockter  and  me,  are  they?  "  she 
recommenced,  in  a  new,  mollified  voice,  a  voice  that 
Waved  the  white  flag  over  her  head. 

"  It  wouldna'  surprise  me  to  hear  as  they  were," 
said  James. 

"  And  supposing  there  was  something  between  us, 
uncle,  should  you  mind?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  should  mind,"  said  he. 
"  And  I  don't  know  as  it  'ud  matter  a  brass  button 
if  I  did  mind." 

"  What  should  you  do,  uncle?  " 

"  I  should  do  as  I've  always  done,"  said  he;  "  eat 
and  sleep  and  take  my  walks  abroad.  Them  as 
wants  to  marry  will  marry,  and  they  will  marry  what 
suits  'em.  But  I  shall  tak'  my  meat  and  drink  as 
usual." 

"  Would  you  come  to  the  wedding?" 

"  I've  only  got  a  funeral  suit,"  said  he.  "  But 
I'd  buy  me  some  togs  if  Emanuel  'ud  tak'  this  place 
off  my  hands  at  what  I  gave." 


2i 6    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  Would  you  give  me  a  wedding-present?  " 

"  I'd  give  thee  some  advice.  It's  what  thou'rt 
most  in  need  of." 

His  tone  was  gloomy  and  resigned. 

She  slipped  round  the  table  and  sat  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair. 

"  You  are  a  horrid  old  thing,"  she  told  him  — 
not  for  the  first  time.  "  I  am  in  need  of  advice. 
And  there's  no  one  can  give  it  me  but  you." 

"Nay,  nay!"  he  recoiled.  "There's  Sarah 
Swetnam.  You're  as  thick  as  thieves." 

"  She's  the  very  last  person  I  can  go  to,"  said 
Helen. 

"And  why?" 

"  Why !  Because  Andrew  is  engaged  to  her 
sister,  of  course.  That's  the  awful  part  of  it." 

"  Ay?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Yes.  Because,  you  see,  it's  Andrew  Dean  that 
I'm  in  love  with." 

She  said  it  in,  very  pert  and  airy  accents.  And 
then  the  next  moment  she  put  James  into  terrible 
consternation  by  crying,  and  clutching  his  arm.  He 
saw  that  she  was  serious.  Light  beat  down  upon 
him.  He  had  to  blink  and  collect  himself. 

"  I'  thy  place,  lass,"  he  said,  "  I  should  keep  that 
to  mysen." 


CONFESSIONAL  217 

"But  I  can't,  uncle.  That  is,  I  haven't  done. 
Andrew  knows.  You  don't  understand  how  much 
I'm  in  love  with  him.  I've  —  he's — " 

"  Thou'st  not  kissed  him?  " 

"  Not  exactly  —  but  — " 

"  He's  been  kissing  you  in  mistake  for  his  other 
young  woman  ?  " 

Helen  nodded. 

"Helen,  what  'ud  thy  mother  say?" 

"  It  was  because  of  Andrew  Dean  that  I  came 
to  live  in  Bursley,"  said  she.  "  I  knew  I  shouldn't 
see  him  often  enough  if  I  stayed  in  Longshaw.  So 
I  came  here.  You  know  we  had  always  liked  each 
other,  I  think,  ever  since  he  spent  two  years  at  Long- 
shaw at  Spitz  Brothers'.  Then  I  didn't  see  him  for 
some  time.  You  know  how  rude  and  awkward  he 
is.  Well,  there  was  a  coolness.  And  then  we 
didn't  see  each  other  for  another  long  time.  And 
then  when  I  next  saw  him  I  knew  I  really  was  in 
love  with  him.  (Of  course,  I  never  said  anything 
to  mother.  One  doesn't,  you  know.  And  she  was 
so  taken  up  with  her  own  affairs,  poor  dear  I) 
And  I  thought  he  was  really  fond  of  me.  I  thought 
so  because  he  was  so  cross  and  queer.  He's  like 
that,  you  know.  And,  after  all,  it  was  not  that  that 
made  him  cross  and  queer.  It  was  just  because  he 


218     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

was  as  good  as  engaged  to  Lilian,  and  he  didn't 
like  to  tell  me.  And  I  never  knew.  How  could 
I  guess?  I'd  never  heard  there  was  anything  be- 
tween him  and  Lilian.  And  besides,  although  he 
was  cross  and  queer,  he  said  things  to  me  that  he 
oughtn't  to  have  said,  considering  how  he  was  carry- 
ing on  with  Lilian.  It  was  then  that  I  settled  on 
coming  to  Bursley.  There  was  no  reason  why  I 
should  stay  in  Longshaw.  I  saw  him  again  in 
Longshaw,  after  he  was  engaged  to  Lilian,  and  yet 
he  never  told  me!  And  then,  when  I  come  here, 
the  first  thing  I  hear  is  that  he's  engaged  to  Lilian. 
It  was  that  afternoon  when  Sarah  called;  do  you  re- 
member, uncle  ?  " 

He  remembered. 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Dean  that  night,  and  somehow  I 
told  him  what  I  thought  of  him..  I  don't  know  how 
it  began;  but  I  did..  He  said  he  couldn't  help  be- 
ing engaged  to  Lilian.  He  said  it  was  one  of  those 
engagements  that  go  on  by  themselves,  and  you 
can't  stop  them.  He  wanted  to  stop  it.  But  he 
was  engaged  before  he  knew  where  he  was  —  so  he 
says.  He  said  he  preferred  me,  and  if  he'd  known 
—  So  of  course  I  was  obliged  to  be  very  angry 
with  him.  That  was  why  I  didn't  speak  to  him  at 


CONFESSIONAL  219 

first  at  Mrs.  Prockter's;  at  least,  that  was  partly 
why.  The  other  reason  was  that  he  had  accused  me 
of  running  after  Emanuel  —  of  all  people!  I  had 
been,  you  know.  But  what  had  that  got  to  do  with 
Andrew,  seeing  that  he  was  engaged  to  Lilian? 
Besides,  I'd  been  doing  it  on  purpose.  And  he  was 
so  insolent.  And  then,  to  crown  all,  Mrs.  Prockter 
makes  me  dance  with  him.  No  wonder  I  fainted! 
He  is  the  rudest,  rudest,  crudest  man  I  ever  knew." 

She  wiped  her  eyes. 

"H'm!"  mused  James. 

"He'll  simply  kill  poor  little  Lilian!"  She 
sobbed. 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  you,  if  you  and 
Emanuel  has  got  nothing  to  do  with  him?  It  isn't 
you  as'll  be  hung  when  Lilian's  murdered." 

"  Can't  you  see  he  mustn't  marry  Lilian? " 
Helen  burst  out.  "  Silly  little  thing !  How  can 
she  understand  him?  She's  miles  beneath  him." 

"Is  there  anybody  as  does  understand  him?" 
James  asked. 

"  I  do,"  said  she.  "  And  that's  flat.  And  I've 
got  to  marry  him,  and  you  must  help  me.  I  wanted 
to  tell  you,  and  now  I've  told  you.  Don't  you  think 
I've  done  right  in  being  quite  open  with  you  ?  Most 


220    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 
girls  are  so  foolish  in  these  things.     But  I'm  not. 
Aren't  you  glad,  uncle?" 

"  Glad  inna'  the  word,"  said  he. 

"  You  must  help  me,"  she  repeated. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

NOCTURNAL 

MANY  things  which  previously  had  not  been  plain  to 
James  Ollerenshaw  were  plain  to  him  that  night, 
as,  in  the  solitude  of  his  chosen  room,  he  reflected 
upon  the  astonishing  menu  that  Helen  had  offered 
him  by  way  of  supplement  to  his  tea.  But  the  chief 
matter  in  his  mind  was  the  great,  central,  burning, 
blinding  fact  of  the  endless  worry  caused  to  him  by 
his  connection  with  the  chit.  He  had  bought  Wil- 
braham  Hall  under  her  threat  to  leave  him  if  he  did 
not  buy  it.  Even  at  Trafalgar-road  she  had  filled 
the  little  house  with  worry.  And  now,  within  a 
dozen  hours  of  arriving  in  it,  she  had  filled  Wilbra- 
ham  Hall  with  worry  —  filled  it  to  its  farthest  attic. 
If  she  had  selected  it  as  a  residence,  she  would  have 
filled  the  Vatican  with  worry.  All  that  James  de- 
manded was  a  quiet  life;  and  she  would  not  let  him 
have  it.  He  wished  he  was  back  again  in 
Trafalgar-road.  He  wished  he  had  never  met 
Helen  and  her  sunshade  in  the  park. 

That  is  to  say,  he  asserted  to  himself  positively 

221 


222     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

that  he  wished  he  had  never  met  Helen.     But  he 
did  not  mean  it. 

And  so  he  was  to  help  her  to  wrest  Andrew  Dean 
from  Lilian  Swetnam!  He  was  to  take  part  in  a 
shameful  conspiracy!  He  was  to  assist  in  ruining 
an  innocent  child's  happiness!  And  he  was  deliber- 
ately to  foster  the  raw  material  of  a  scandal  in  which 
he  himself  would  be  involved!  He,  the  strong, 
obstinate,  self-centred  old  man  who  had  never,  till 
Helen's  advent,  done  anything  except  to  suit  his  own 
convenience  I 

The  one  bright  spot  was  that  Helen  had  no 
genuine  designs  on  Emanuel  Prockter.  As  a  son- 
in-law,  Andrew  Dean  would  be  unbearable;  but 
Emanuel  Prockter  would  have  been  —  well,  im- 
possible. Andrew  Dean  (he  mused)  was  at  any 
rate  a  man  whom  you  could  talk  to  and  look  at  with- 
out feeling  sick. 

When  he  had  gazed  at  the  affair  from  all  points 
of  view,  and  repeated  to  himself  the  same  deep 
moral  truths  (such  as  "  There's  no  doing  nowt  wi' 
a  young  woman  afore  she's  forty"),  about  thirty- 
nine  times,  and  pitied  himself  from  every  quarter 
of  the  compass,  he  rose  to  go  to  bed;  he  did  not 
expect  to  sleep.  But  the  gas  was  not  yet  in  order, 
and  he  had  only  one  candle,  which  was  nearly  at 


NOCTURNAL  223 

its  latter  end.     The  ladies  —  Helen  and  Georgiana 
—  had  retired  long  since. 

He  left  his  little  room,  and  was  just  setting  forth 
on  the  adventure  of  discovering  his  bedchamber, 
when  a  bell  rang  in  the  bowels  of  the  house.  His 
flesh  crept.  It  was  as  if  — 

The  clock  struck  twelve,  and  shook  the  silent  tower. 

Then  he  collected  his  powers  of  memory  and  of 
induction,  and  recognised  in  the  sound  of  the  bell 
the  sound  of  the  front  door  bell.  Some  one  must 
be  at  the  front  door.  The  singular  and  highly-dis- 
turbing phenomena  of  distant  clanging,  of  thrills, 
and  of  flesh-creepings  were  all  resolved  into  the 
simple  fact  that  some  one  was  at  the  front  door. 

He  went  back  into  his  little  room;  instead  of 
opening  the  front  door  like  a  man,  he  opened  the 
window  of  the  little  room,  and  stuck  out  the  tassel 
of  his  cap. 

"Who's  there?"  he  demanded. 

"  It's  I,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,"  said  a  voice,  queenly 
and  nervous. 

"  Not  Mrs.  Prockter?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  reckon  ye'd  like  to  come  in,"  he  said. 

She  admitted  the  desire  with  a  laugh  which  struck 


224    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

him  as  excessively  free.  He  did  not  know  whether 
to  be  glad  or  sorry  that  Helen  had  departed  to  bed. 
He  did  not  even  know  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry 
that  Mrs.  Prockter  had  called.  But  he  vividly  're- 
membered what  Helen  had  said  about  caps. 

Naturally,  he  had  to  let  her  in.  He  held  the 
candle  in  his  left  hand,  as  he  opened  the  door  with 
his  right,  and  the  tassel  of  his  cap  was  over  his  eye. 

"  You'll  think  I'm  in  the  habit  of  calling  on  you 
at  night,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter,  as  she  slid  through 
the  narrow  space  which  James  allotted  to  her,  and 
she  laughed  again.  "  Where  is  dear  Helen?  " 

"  She's  gone  to  bed,  missis,"  said  James,  holding 
high  the  candle  and  gazing  at  the  generous  vision 
in  front  of  him.  It  wore  a  bonnet,  and  a  rich 
Paisley  shawl  over  its  flowered  silk. 

"  But  it's  only  ten  o'clock!  "  Mrs.  Prockter  pro- 
tested. 

"  Yes.     But  her's  gone  to  bed." 

"Why,"  Mrs.  Prockter  exclaimed,  changing  the 
subject  wilfully,  "  you  are  all  straight  here !  "  ( For 
the  carpets  had  been  unrolled  and  laid.) 

And  she  sat  down  on  a  massive  Early  Victoria 
mahogany  chair  about  fifteen  feet  from  the  dying 
fire,  and  began  to  fan  herself  with  her  hands.  She 
was  one  of  your  women  who  are  never  cold. 


NOCTURNAL  225 

James,  having  nothing  to  say,  said  nothing,  fol- 
lowing his  custom. 

"  I'm  not  ill-pleased,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter,  "  that 
Helen  is  out  of  the  way.  The  fact  is  —  it  was 
you  that  I  wanted  to  have  a  word  with.  You'll 
guess  what  about  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Emanuel?"  James  hazarded. 

"  Precisely.  I  had  to  put  him  to  bed.  He  is 
certainly  in  for  a  very  serious  cold,  and  I  trust  — 
I  fervently  trust  —  it  may  not  be  bronchitis.  That 
would  mean  nurses,  and  nothing  upsets  a  house 
more  than  nurses.  What  happened,  Mr.  Olleren- 
shaw?" 

James  set  the  candle  down  on  another  Early 
Victorian  chair,  there  being  no  occasional  table  at 
hand,  and  very  slowly  lowered  himself  to  a  sitting 
posture  on  a  third. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  happened,  missis,"  he  said, 
putting  his  hands  on  his  knees. 

And  he  told  her,  beginning  with  the  loss  of  the 
ship  and  ocean,  and  ending  with  Helen's  ever 
memorable  words :  "  You  must  help  me." 

"  That's  what  happened,  missis,"  he  said,  grimly. 

She  had  punctuated  his  recital  by  several  excla- 
mations, and  when  he  had  finished  she  gave  rein  to 
her  sentiments. 


226     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,"  she  said,  in  the. 
kindest  manner  conceivable,  "  how  I  sympathise  with 
you !  How  I  wish  I  could  help  you !  " 

Her  sympathy  was  a  genuine  comfort  to  him. 
He  did  not,  in  that  instant,  care  a  fig  for  Helen's 
notion  about  the  direction  of  caps.  He  was  simply 
and  humanly  eased  by  the  sweet  tones  of  this  ample 
and  comely  dame.  Besides,  the  idea  of  a  woman 
such  as  Mrs.  Prockter  marrying  a  man  such  as  him 
was  (he  knew)  preposterous.  She  belonged  to  a 
little  world  which  called  him  "  Jimmy,"  whereas 
he  belonged  to  a  little  world  of  his  own.  True,  he 
was  wealthy ;  but  she  was  not  poor  —  and  no  amount 
of  money  (he  thought)  could  make  a  bridge  to  join 
those  two  worlds.  Nevertheless,  here  she  was, 
talking  to  him  alone  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  —  and 
not  for  the  first  time,  either!  Obviously,  then, 
there  was  no  nonsense  about  her,  whatever  non- 
sensical world  she  belonged  to. 

She  ran  over  with  sympathy.  Having  no  further 
fear  of  Helen  making  trouble  in  her  own  family,  she 
had  all  her  feelings  at  liberty  to  condone  with  James. 

The  candle,  throwing  a  small  hemisphere  of 
feeble  radiance  in  the  vastness  of  the  dim  hall,  sat 
on  its  chair  between  them. 

"  I    can    help    you,"    she    said,    suddenly,    after 


NOCTURNAL  227 

grunts  from  James.  "  I'm  calling  on  the  Swetnams 
the  day  after  to-morrow.  I'll  tell  them  about  — 
about  to-day,  and  when  Mrs.  Swetnam  asks  me  for 
an  explanation  of  it,  I  will  be  mysterious.  If 
Lilian  is  there,  Mrs.  Swetnam  will  certainly  get  her 
out  of  the  room.  Then  I  will  just  give  the  faintest 
hint  that  the  explanation  is  merely  jealousy  between 
Emanuel  and  Mr.  Dean  concerning  —  a  certain 
young  lady.  I  shall  treat  it  all  as  a  joke;  you  can 
rely  on  me.  Immediately  I  am  gone  Lilian  will 
hear  about  it.  She  will  quarrel  with  Andrew  the 
next  time  she  sees  him;  and  if  he  wishes  to  be  free, 
he  may  be." 

She  smiled  the  arch,  naughty,  pleasantly-malign 
smile  of  a  terribly  experienced  dowager.  And  she 
seemed  positively  anxious  that  James  should  have 
Andrew  Dean  for  a  son-in-law. 

James,  in  his  simplicity,  was  delighted.  It  ap- 
peared to  him  a  Mephistophelian  ingenuity.  He 
thought  how  clever  women  were,  on  their  own 
ground,  and  what  an  advantage  they  had  in  their 
immense  lack  of  scruple. 

"  Of  course,"  said  she,  "  I  have  always  said  that 
a  marriage  between  Andrew-  Dean  and  Lilian  would 
be  a  mistake  —  a  very  serious  mistake.  They  are 
quite  unsuited  to  each  other.  She  isn't  in  love  with 


228     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

him  —  she's  only  been  flattered  by  his  attentions 
into  drawing  him  on.  I  feel  sorry  for  the  little 
thing." 

At  a  stroke,  she  had  converted  a  shameful  con- 
spiracy into  an  act  of  the  highest  virtue.  And  her 
smile  changed,  too  —  became  a  good  smile,  a  smile 
on  which  a  man  might  depend.  His  heart  went  out 
to  her,  and  he  contemplated  the  smile  in  a  pleased, 
beatific  silence. 

Just  then  the  candle  —  a  treacherous  thing  — 
flamed  up  and  went  out. 

"Oh!"  cried  Mrs.  Prockter. 

And  James  had  not  a  match.  He  never  smoked. 
And  without  an  atlas  of  the  Hall,  showing  the  loca- 
tion of  match-boxes,  he  saw  no  hope  of  finding  a 
match. 

The  fire  was  as  good  as  gone.  A  few  cinders 
burnt  red  under  the  ash,  showing  the  form  of  the 
chimney-piece,  but  no  more. 

"  An  ye  got  a  match  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  No,"  she  said,  drily,  "  I  don't  carry  matches. 
But  I  can  tell  you  I  don't  like  being  in  the  dark 
at  all."  Her  voice  came  to  him  out  of  nothing, 
and  had  a  most  curious  effect  on  his  spine.  "  Where 
are  you,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  ?  " 

'*  I'm  a-sitting  here,"  he  replied. 


NOCTURNAL  229 

"Well,"  said  she,  "if  you  can't  find  a  match, 
I  think  you  had  better  lead  me  to  the  door.  I 
certainly  can't  find  my  way  there  myself.  Where 
is  your  hand?  " 

Then  a  hand  touched  his  shoulder  and  burnt 
him.  "Is  that  you?"  asked  the  voice. 

"Ay!"  he  said. 

And  he  took  the  hand,  and  the  hand  squeezed 
his  hand  —  squeezed  it  violently.  It  may  have 
been  due  to  fear,  it  may  have  been  due  to  mere  in- 
advertence on  the  part  of  the  hand;  but  the  hand 
did,  with  unmistakable,  charming  violence,  squeeze 
his  hand. 

And  he  rose. 

"  What's  that  light  there?  "  questioned  the  voice, 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Where?  "  he  whispered  also. 

"There  — behind." 

He  turned.  A  luminance  seemed  to  come  from 
above,  from  the  unseen  heights  of  the  magnificent 
double  staircase.  As  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to 
the  conditions,  he  gradually  made  out  the  details  of 
the  staircase. 

"  You'd  better  go  and  see,"  the  whispering  voice 
commanded. 

He  dropped  the  hand  and  obeyed,  creeping  up  the 


230    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

left  wing  of  the  staircase.  As  he  faced  about  at 
the  half-landing,  he  saw  Helen,  in  an  orange-tinted 
peignoir,  and  her  hair  all  down  her  back,  holding  a 
candle.  She  beckoned  to  him.  He  ascended  to 
her. 

"Who's  there?"  she  inquired,  coldly. 

"  Mrs.  Prockter,"  he  murmured. 

"  And  are  you  sitting  together  in  the  dark?  "  she 
inquired,  coldly. 

The  story  that  the  candle  had  expired  seemed 
feeble  in  the  extreme.  And  for  him  the  word  "  cap  " 
was  written  in  letters  of  fire  on  the  darkness  below. 

He  made  no  attempt  to  answer  her  question. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

SEEING  A   LADY    HOME 

THOSE  words  of  Helen's  began  a  fresh  chapter  in 
the  life  of  her  great-stepuncle,  James  Ollerenshaw. 
They  set  up  in  him  a  feeling,  or  rather  a  whole  range 
of  feelings,  which  he  had  never  before  experienced. 
At  tea,  Helen  had  hinted  at  the  direction  of  Mrs. 
Prockter's  cap.  That  was  nothing.  He  could  not 
be  held  responsible  for  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter's cap.  He  could  laugh  at  that,  even  though  he 
faintly  blushed.  But  to  be  caught  sitting  in  the 
dark  with  Mrs.  Prockter,  after  ten  o'clock  at  night, 
in  his  own  house ;  to  have  the  fact  pointed  out  to  him 
in  such  a  peculiar,  meaningful  tone  as  Helen  em- 
ployed—  here  was  something  that  connected  him 
and  Mrs.  Prockter  in  a  manner  just  a  shade  too 
serious  for  mere  smiling.  Here  was  something  that 
had  not  before  happened  to  him  in  his  career  as  rent- 
collector  and  sage. 

Not  that  he  minded !     No,  he  did  not  mind.     Al- 
though he  had  no  intention  whatever  of  disputing 
the  possession  of  Mrs.  Prockter  with  her  stepson, 
231 


23 2    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

he  did  not  object  to  all  the  implication  in  Helen's  re- 
markable tone.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  rather 
pleased.  Wfty  should  not  he  sit  with  a  lady  in  the 
dark?  Was  he  not  as  capable  as  any  man  of  sitting 
with  a  lady  in  the  dark?  He  was  even  willing  that 
Helen  should  credit  him,  or  pretend  to  credit  him, 
with  having  prearranged  the  dark. 

Ah!  People  might  say  what  they  chose!  But 
what  a  dog  he  might  have  been  had  he  cared  to  be  a 
dog!  Here  he  was,  without  the  slightest  prelimi- 
nary practice,  successfully  sitting  with  a  lady  in  the 
dark,  at  the  first  attempt!  And  what  lady?  Not 
the  first-comer!  Not  Mrs.  Butt!  Not  the  May- 
oress !  But  the  acknowledged  Queen  of  Bursley,  the 
undisputed  leader  of  all  that  was  most  distinguished 
in  Bursley  society!  And  no  difficulty  about  it, 
either!  And  she  had  squeezed  his  hand.  She  had 
continued  to  squeeze  it.  She,  in  her  rich  raiment, 
with  her  fine  ways,  and  her  correct  accent,  had 
squeezed  the  hand  of  Jimmy  Ollerenshaw  with  his 
hard  old  clothes  and  his  Turkish  cap,  his  simple 
barbarisms,  his  lack  of  style,  and  his  uncompromising 
dialect!  Why?  Because  he  was  rich?  No.  Be- 
cause he  was  a  man,  because  he  was  the  best  man  in 
'Bursley,  when  you  came  down  to  essentials. 

So  his  thoughts  ran. 


SEEING  A  LADY  HOME  233 

His  interest  in  Helen's  heart  had  become  quite  a 
secondary  interest,  but  she  recalled  him  to  a  sense 
of  his  responsibilities  as  great-stepuncle  of  a  capri- 
cious creature  like  her. 

"  What  are  you  and  Mrs.  Prockter  talking 
about?  "  she  questioned  him  in  a  whisper,  holding 
the  candle  towards  his  face  and  scrutinising  it,  as 
seemed  to  him,  inimically. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  you  must  know,  about  you 
and  that  there  Andrew  Dean." 

She  made  a  brusque  movement.  And  then  she 
beckoned  him  to  follow  her  along  the  corridor,  out 
of  possible  earshot  of  Mrs.  Prockter. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  uncle,"  she  demanded, 
putting  the  candle  down  on  a  small  table  that  stood 
under  a  large  oil-painting  of  Joshua  and  the  Sun  in 
the  corridor,  "  that  you've  been  discussing  my  affairs 
with  Mrs.  Prockter?" 

He  saw  instantly  that  he  had  not  been  the  sage 
he  imagined  himself  to  be.  But  he  was  not  going 
to  be  bullied  by  Helen,  or  any  other  woman 
younger  than  Mrs.  Prockter.  So  he  stiffly  brazened 
it  out. 

"Ay!"  he  said. 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!  "  she  exploded, 
but  still  whispering. 


234    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  You  said  as  I  must  help  ye,  and  I'm  helping  ye," 
said  he. 

"  But  I  didn't  mean  that  you  were  to  go  chattering 
about  me  all  over  Bursley,  uncle,"  she  protested, 
adopting  now  the  pained,  haughty,  and  over-polite 
attitude. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I've  been  chattering  all  over 
Bursley,"  he  rebutted  her.  "  I  don't  know  as  I'm 
much  of  a  chatterer.  I  might  name  them  as  could 
give  me  a  start  and  a  beating  when  it  comes  to  talk- 
ing the  nose  off  a  brass  monkey.  Mrs.  Prockter 
came  in  to  inquire  about  what  had  happened  here  this 
afternoon,  as  well  she  might,  seeing  as  Emanuel 
went  home  with  a  couple  o'  gallons  o'  my  water  in 
his  pockets.  So  I  told  her  all  about  it.  Her's  a 
very  friendly  woman.  And  her's  promised  to  do 
what  her  can  for  ye." 

"How?" 

"  Why,  to  get  Andrew  Dean  for  ye,  seeing  as 
ye're  so  fixed  on  him,  wi'  as  little  gossip  as  maybe." 

"  Oh !  So  Mrs.  Prockter  has  kindly  consented 
to  get  Andrew  Dean  for  me!  And  how  does  she 
mean  to  do  it?  " 

James  had  no  alternative ;  he  was  obliged  to  relate 
how  Mrs.  Prockter  meant  to  do  it. 

"  Now,  uncle,"  said  Helen,   "  just  listen  to  me. 


SEEING  A  LADY  HOME  235 

If  Mrs.  Prockter  says  a  single  word  about  me  to 
any  one,  I  will  never  speak  either  to  her  or  you 
again.  Mind !  A  single  word !  A  nice  thing  that 
she  should  go  up  to  Swetnam's,  and  hint  that  An- 
drew and  Emanuel  have  been  fighting  because  of  me ! 
What  about  my  reputation?  And  do  you  suppose 
that  I  want  the  leavings  of  Lilian  Swetnam?  Me! 
The  idea  is  preposterous !  " 

"  You  wanted  'em  badly  enough  this  afternoon," 
said  he. 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  she  contradicted  him  passionately. 
**  You  are  quite  mistaken.  You  misunderstood  me, 
though  I'm  surprised  that  you  should  have  done. 
Perhaps  I  was  a  little  excited  this  afternoon.  Cer- 
tainly you  were  thinking  about  other  things.  I  ex- 
pect you  were  expecting  Mrs.  Prockter  this  evening. 
It  would  have  been  nicer  of  you  to  have  told  me  she 
was  coming." 

U    T  »» 

"  Now,  please  let  it  be  clearly  understood,"  she 
swept  on.  "  You  must  go  down  and  tell  Mrs. 
Prockter  at  once  that  you  were  entirely  in  error,  and 
that  she  is  on  no  account  to  breathe  a  word  about 
me  to  any  one.  Whatever  you  were  both  thinking 
of  I  cannot  imagine !  But  I  can  assure  you  I'm  ex- 
tremely annoyed.  Mrs.  Prockter  putting  her  finger 


236     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

in  the  pie !  .  .  .  Let  her  take  care  that  I  don't 
put  my  finger  into  her  pie !  I  always  knew  she  was 
a  gossiping  old  thing,  but,  really — " 

"  Mr.  Ollerenshaw !  "  A  prettily  plaintive  voice 
rose  from  the  black  depths  below. 

"  There  I  she's  getting  impatient  for  you !  "  Helen 
snapped.  "  Run  off  to  her  at  once.  To  think  that 
if  I  hadn't  happened  to  hear  the  bell  ring,  and  come 
out  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  I  should  have  been 
the  talk  of  Bursley  before  I  was  a  day  older  1  " 

She  picked  up  the  candle. 

"  I  must  have  a  light !  "  said  James,  somewhat 
lamely. 

"Why?"  Helen  asked,  calmly.  "If  you  could 
begin  in  the  dark,  why  can't  you  finish  in  the  dark? 
You  and  she  seem  to  like  being  in  the  dark." 

"  Mr.  Ollerenshaw !  "  The  voice  was  a  little 
nearer. 

"  Her's  coming!"  James  ejaculated. 

Helen  seemed  to  lose  her  courage  before  that 
threat. 

"  Here!  Take  this  one,  then!  "  said  she,  giving 
James  her  candle,  and  fleeing  down  the  corridor. 

James  had  the  sensation  of  transacting  a  part  in 
a  play  at  a  theatre  where  the  scenery  was  absolutely 
realistic  and  at  the  same  time  of  a  romantic  quality. 


SEEING  A  LADY  HOME  237 

Moonlight  streaming  in  through  the  windows  of 
the  interminable  corridor  was  alone  wanting  to  ren- 
der the  illusion  perfect.  It  was  certainly  astonishing 
—  what  you  could  buy  with  seven  thousand  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  1  Perhaps  the  most  strik- 
ing portion  of  the  scenery  was  Helen's  peignoir. 
He  had  not  before  witnessed  her  in  a  peignoir. 
The  effect  of  it  was  agreeable;  but,  indeed,  the 
modern  taste  for  luxury  was  incredible!  He 
wondered  if  Mrs.  Prockter  practised  similar 
extravagances. 

While  such  notions  ran  through  his  head  he  was 
hurrying  to  the  stairs,  and  dropping  a  hail  of  candle- 
grease  on  the  floor.  He  found  Mrs.  Prockter  slowly 
and  cautiously  ascending  the  stairway.  If  he  was 
at  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc,  she  had  already 
reached  Les  Grands  Mulcts. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  pausing,  and  looking 
up  at  him  with  an  appealing  gesture. 

"What's  what?" 

"Why  have  you  been  so  long?"  It  was  as  if 
she  implied  that  these  minutes  without  him  were  an 
eternity  of  ennui.  He  grew  more  and  more  con- 
ceited. He  was  already  despising  Don  Juan  as  a 
puling  boy. 

"  Helen   heard   summat,   and   so   she   had  come 


238    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

out  of  her  bedroom.  Her's  nervous  i'  this  big 
house." 

"  Did  you  tell  her  I  was  here,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw?  " 

By  this  time  he  had  rejoined  her  at  Les  Grands 
Mulcts. 

"  No,"  he  said,  without  sufficiently  reflecting. 

"  She  didn't  hear  me  call  out,  then?  " 

"  Did  ye  call  out?  "  If  he  was  in  a  theatre,  he 
also  could  act. 

"  Perhaps  it's  just  as  well,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter, 
after  a  momentary  meditation.  "  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances she  cannot  possibly  suspect  our  little 
plot." 

Their  little  plot!  In  yielding  to  the  impulse  to 
tell  her  that  Helen  was  unaware  of  her  presence  in 
the  house  he  had  forgotten  that  he  had  made  it  ex- 
cessively difficult  for  him  to  demolish  the  said  plot. 
He  could  not  one  moment  agree  with  enthusiasm  to 
the  plot,  and  the  next  moment  say  that  the  plot  had 
better  be  abandoned.  Some  men,  doubtless,  could. 
But  he  could  not.  He  was  scarcely  that  kind  of 
man.  His  proper  course  would  have  been  to  relate 
to  Mrs.  Prockter  exactly  what  had  passed  between 
himself  and  Helen,  and  trust  to  her  common  sense. 
Unhappily,  with  the  intention  of  pleasing  her,  or  re- 
assuring her,  or  something  equally  silly,  he  had  lied 


SEEING  A  LADY  HOME  239 

to  her  and  rendered  the  truth  impracticable.  How- 
ever, he  did  not  seem  to  care  much.  He  had  already 
pushed  Helen's  affairs  back  again  to  quite  a  secondary 
position. 

"  I  suppose  ye  think  it'll  be  all  right,  missis,"  he 
said,  carelessly  — "  ye  going  up  to  Mrs.  Swetnam's 
o'  that  'n,  and  — " 

"  Rely  on  me,"  said  she,  silencing  him. 

Thus,  without  a  pang,  he  left  Helen  to  her  fate. 

They  had  touched  the  ground-floor. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,"  said 
Mrs.  Prockter.  "  Good-night.  I'll  make  the  best 
of  my  way  home." 

Curious,  how  sorry  he  felt  at  this  announcement  I 
He  had  become  quite  accustomed  to  being  a  con- 
spirator with  her  in  the  vast  house  lighted  by  a 
single  candle,  and  he  did  not  relish  the  end  of  the 
performance. 

"  I'll  step  along  wi'  ye,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  she  said.     "  I  really  can't  allow—" 

"Allow  what?" 

"Allow  you  to  inconvenience  yourself  like  that 
for  me." 

"Pooh!"  said  he. 

And  he,  who  had  never  in  his  life  seen  a  lady  to 
her  door,  set  out  on  the  business  as  though  he  had 


24o    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

done  nothing  else  every  night  of  his  life,  as  though 
it  was  an  enterprise  that  did  not  require  practice. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  put  the  candle  on  the 
floor  behind  it,  where  he  could  easily  find  it  on  re- 
turning. "  I'll  get  a  box  o'  matches  from  some- 
where while  I'm  out,"  said  he. 

He  was  about  to  extinguish  the  candle  when  she 
stopped  him.  "  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,"  she  said,  firmly, 
"you  haven't  got  your  boots  on.  Those  slippers 
are  not  thick  enough  for  this  weather." 

He  gazed  at  her.  Should  he  yield  to  her  ?  The 
idea  of  yielding  to  her,  for  the  mere  sake  of  yielding 
to  her,  presented  itself  to  him  as  a  charming  idea. 
So  he  disappeared  with  the  candle,  and  reappeared 
in  his  boots. 

"  You  won't  need  a  muffler?  "  she  suggested. 

Now  was  the  moment  to  play  the  hardy  Norse- 
man. "  Oh,  no !  "  he  laughed. 

This  concern  for  his  welfare,  coming  from  such  a 
royal  creature,  was,  however,  immensely  agreeable. 

She  stood  out  on  the  steps;  he  extinguished  the 
candle,  and  then  joined  her  and  banged  the  door. 
They  started.  Several  hundred  yards  of  winding 
pitch-dark  drive  had  to  be  traversed. 

"  Will  you  kindly  give  me  your  arm?  "  she  said. 

She  said  it  so  primly,  so  correctly,  and  with  such 


SEEING  A  LADY  HOME  241 

detachment,  that  they  might  have  been  in  church, 
and  she  saying:  "  Will  you  kindly  let  me  look  over 
your  Prayer  Book?  " 

When  they  arrived  at  the  gas-lit  Oldcastle-road 
he  wanted  to  withdraw  his  arm,  but  he  did  not  know 
how  to  begin  withdrawing  it.  Hence  he  was  obliged 
to  leave  it  where  it  was. 

And  as  they  were  approaching  the  front  gate  of 
the  residence  of  Mr.  Buchanan,  the  Scotch  editor 
of  the  Signal,  a  perfect  string  of  people  emerged 
from  that  front  gate.  Mrs.  Buchanan  had  been 
giving  a  whist  drive.  There  were  sundry  Swet- 
nams  among  the  string.  And  the  whole  string  was 
merry  and  talkative.  It  was  a  fine  night.  The  lead- 
ing pearls  of  the  string  bore  down  on  the  middle-aged 
pair,  and  peered,  and  passed. 

"  Good-night,  Mrs.  Prockter.  Good-night,  Mr. 
Ollerenshaw." 

Then  another  couple  did  the  same.  "  Good-night, 
Mrs.  Prockter.  Good-night,  Mr.  Ollerenshaw." 

And  so  it  went  on.  And  the  string,  laughing  and 
talking,  gradually  disappeared  diminuendo  in  the 
distance  towards  Bursley. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  you've  done  it  this  time  ?  " 
observed  Mrs.  Prockter. 

It  was  a  dark  saying,  but  James  fully  understood 


242     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

it.  He  felt  as  though  he  had  drunk  champagne. 
"  As  well  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb !  "  he  said 
to  himself.  And  deliberately  squeezed  the  royal 
arm. 

Nothing  violent  happened.  He  had  rather  ex- 
pected the  heavens  to  fall,  or  that  at  least  Mrs. 
OProckter  would  exclaim :  "  Unhand  me,  monster  I  " 
But  nothing  violent  happened. 

"  And  this  is  me,  James  Ollerenshaw !  "  he  said  to 
himself,  still  squeezing. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

GIRLISH    CONFIDENCES 

ONE  afternoon  Sarah  Swetnam  called,  and  Helen  in 
person  opened  the  great  door  to  the  visitor. 

"  I  saw  that  frock  in  Bruntrs  three  days  ago," 
Helen  began,  kissing  the  tall,  tight-bound,  large- 
boned  woman. 

"  I  know  you  did,  Nell,"  Sarah  admitted.  "  But 
you  needn't  tell  me  so.  Don't  you  like  it?  " 

"  I  think  it's  a  dream,"  Helen  replied,  quickly. 
"  Turn  round."  But  there  was  a  certain  lack  of  con- 
viction in  her  voice,  and  in  Sarah's  manner  there 
was  something  strained.  Accordingly,  they  both 
became  extravagantly  effusive  —  or,  at  any  rate, 
more  effusive  than  usual,  though  each  was  well  aware 
that  the  artifice  was  entirely  futile. 

"  All  alone?  "  Sarah  asked,  when  she  had  recov- 
ered from  the  first  shock  of  the  hall's  magnificence. 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen.  "  It's  Georgiana's  afternoon 
out,  and  uncle's  away,  and  I  haven't  got  any  new 
servants  yet" 

243 


244    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  away !  No  one  ever  heard 
of  such  a  thing !  If  you  knew  him  as  well  as  we  do, 
you'd  have  fainted  with  surprise.  It  ought  to  be  in 
the  paper.  Where's  he  gone  to?" 

"  He's  gone  to  Derby,  to  try  to  buy  some  property 
that  he  says  is  going  very  cheap  there.  He's  been 
gone  three  days  now.  He  got  a  letter  at  break- 
fast, and  said  he  must  go  to  Derby  at  once.  How- 
ever, he  had  to  finish  his  rents.  The  trouble  is  that 
his  rents  never  are  finished,  and  I'm  bothered  all  the 
time  by  people  coming  with  three  and  sixpence,  or 
four  shillings,  and  a  dirty  rent-book!  Oh!  and  the 
dirt  on  the  coins!  My  dear,  you  can't  imagine! 
There's  one  good  thing.  He  will  have  to  come 
back  for  next  week's  rents.  Not  that  I'm  sorry  he's 
gone.  It  gives  me  a  chance,  you  see.  By  the  time 
he  returns  I  shall  have  my  servants  in." 

"  Do  tell  me  what  servants  you're  going  to 
have?" 

"  Well,  I  went  to  that  agency  at  Oldcastle.  I've 
got  a  German  butler.  He  speaks  four  languages, 
and  has  beautiful  eyes." 

"A  German  butler!" 

If  it  had  been  a  German  prince  Sarah  could  not 
have  been  more  startled  nor  more  delighted. 

"  Yes,  and  a  cook,  and  two  other  maids ;  and  a 


GIRLISH  CONFIDENCES  245 

gardener  and  a  boy.  I  shall  keep  Georgiana  as  my 
own  maid." 

"  My  child,  you're  going  it !  " 

"  My  child,  I  came  here  to  go  it." 

"  And  —  and  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  is  really  pleased?  " 

Helen  laughed.  "  Uncle  never  goes  into  raptures, 
you  know.  But  I  hope  he  will  be  pleased.  The 
fact  is,  he  doesn't  know  anything  about  these  new 
servants  yet.  He'll  find  them  installed  when  he  re- 
turns. It  will  be  a  little  treat  for  him.  My  piano 
came  this  morning.  Care  to  try  it?  " 

"Rather!"  said  Sarah.  "Well,  I  never  saw 
anything  like  it !  "  This  was  in  reference  to  her 
first  glimpse  of  the  great  drawing-room.  "  How 
you've  improved  it,  you  dear  thing!  " 

"You  see,  I  have  my  own  cheque-book;  it  saves 
worry." 

"  I  see !  "  said  Sarah,  meaningly,  putting  her  purse 
on  the  piano,  her  umbrella  on  a  chair,  and  herself  on 
the  music-stool. 

"Shall  we  have  tea?"  Helen  suggested,  after 
Sarah  had  performed  on  the  Bechstein. 

"  Yes.     Let  me  help  you,  do,  dearest." 

They  wandered  off  to  the  kitchens,  and  while  they 
were  seated  at  the  kitchen-table,  sipping  tea,  side  by 
side,  Sarah  said: 


246     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  Now  if  you  want  an  idea,  I've  got  a  really  good 
one  for  you." 

"  For  me?     What  sort  of  an  idea?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you.  You  know  Mrs.  Wiltshire  is 
dead." 

"  I  don't.  I  didn't  even  know  there  was  a  Mrs. 
Wiltshire." 

"Well,  there  was,  and  there  isn't  any  longer. 
Mrs.  Wiltshire  was  the  main  social  prop  of  the  old 
rector.  And  the  annual  concert  of  the  St.  Luke's 
Guild  has  always  been  held  at  her  house,  down  at 
Shawport,  you  know.  Awfully  poky!  But  it  was 
the  custom  since  the  Flood,  and  no  one  ever  dared 
to  hint  at  a  change.  Now  the  concert  was  to  have 
been  next  week  but  one,  and  she's  just  gone  and 
died,  and  the  rector  is  wondering  where  he  can  hold 
it.  I  met  him  this  morning.  Why  don't  you  let 
him  hold  it  here?  That  would  be  a  splendid  way 
of  opening  your  house  —  Hall,  I  beg  its  pardon. 
Arid  you  could  introduce  the  beautiful  eyes  of  your 
German  butler  to  the  entire  neighbourhood.  Of 
course,  I  don't  know  whether  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  would 
like  it." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Helen,  without  blenching,  "  uncle 
would  do  as  I  wish." 


GIRLISH  CONFIDENCES  247 

She  mused,  in  silence,  during  a  number  of  sec- 
onds. 

"  The  idea  doesn't  appeal  to  you?  "  Sarah  queried, 
disappointment  in  her  tones. 

"  Yes,  it  does,"  said  Helen.  "  But  I  must  think 
it  over.  Now,  would  you  care  to  see  the  rest  of  the 
house?" 

"  I  should  love  to.  Oh  dear,  I've  left  my  hand- 
kerchief with  my  purse  in  the  drawing-room." 

"  Have  mine !  "  said  Helen,  promptly. 

But  even  after  this  final  proof  of  intimate  friend- 
ship, there  still  remained  an  obstinate  trifle  of  in- 
sincerity in  their  relations  that  afternoon.  Helen  was 
sure  that  Sarah  Swetnam  had  paid  the  call  specially 
to  say  something,  and  that  the  something  had  not 
yet  been  said.  And  the  apprehension  of  an  impend- 
ing scene  gradually  took  possession  of  her  nerves  and 
disarranged  them.  When  they  reached  the  attics, 
and  were  enjoying  the  glorious  views  of  the  moor- 
land in  the  distance  and  of  Wilbraham  Water  in 
the  immediate  foreground,  Helen  said,  very  sud- 
denly : 

"  Will  the  rector  be  in  this  afternoon?  " 

"I  should  say  so.     Why?" 

"  I  was  thinking  we  might  walk  down  there  to- 


248     HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

gether,  and  I  could  suggest  to  him  at  once  about  hav- 
ing the  concert  here." 

Sarah  clapped  her  hands.  "Then  you've  de- 
cided?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  How  funny  you  are,  Nell,  with  your  decisions!  " 

In  Helen's  bedroom,  amid  her  wardrobe,  there  was 
no  chance  of  dangerous  topics,  the  attention  being 
monopolised  by  one  subject,  and  that  a  safe  one. 

At  last  they  went  out  together,  two  models  of 
style  and  deportment,  and  Helen  pulled  to  the  great 
front  door  with  a  loud  echoing  clang. 

"  Fancy  that  place  being  all  empty.  Aren't  you 
afraid  of  sleeping  there  while  your  uncle  is  away?  " 

"  No,"  said  Helen.  "  But  I  should  be  afraid  if 
Georgiana  wasn't  afraid." 

After  this  example  of  courageous  introspection, 
a  silence  fell  upon  the  pair;  the  silence  held  firm 
while  they  got  out  of  the  grounds  and  crossed  Old- 
castle-road,  and  took  to  the  Alls  field-path,  from 
which  a  unique  panorama  of  Bursley  —  chimneys, 
kilns,  canals,  railways,  and  smoke-pall  —  is  to  be 
obtained.  Helen  was  determined  not  to  break  the 
silence.  And  then  came  the  moment  when  Sarah 
Swetnam  could  no  longer  suffer  the  silence;  and  she 
began,  very  cautiously: 


GIRLISH  CONFIDENCES  249 

"  I  suppose  you've  heard  all  about  Andrew  and 
Emanuel  Prockter?  " 

Helen  perceived  that  she  had  not  been  mistaken, 
and  that  the  scene  was  at  hand.  "  No,"  said  she. 
"What  about  them?" 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you've  not  heard?  " 

"No.     What  about?" 

"  The  quarrel  between  those  two?  " 

"Emanuel  and  Mr.  Dean?" 

"  Yes.     But  you  must  have  heard?  " 

"  I  assure  you,  Sally,  no  one  has  told  me  a  word 
about  it."  (Which  was  just  as  true  as  it  was  un- 
true.) 

"  But  they  quarrelled  up  here.  I  did  hear  that 
Andrew  threw  Emanuel  into  your  lake." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"  It  was  Mrs.  Prockter.  She  was  calling  on  the 
mater  yesterday,  and  she  seemed  to  be  full  of  it  — 
according  to  the  mater's  account.  Mrs.  Prockter's 
idea  was  that  they  had  quarrelled  about  a  woman." 

("  Mrs.  Prockter  shall  be  repaid  for  this,"  said 
Helen  to  herself.) 

"  Surely  Emanuel  hasn't  been  falling  in  love  with 
Lilian,  has  he?  "  said  Helen,  aloud.  She  considered 
this  rather  clever  on  her  part.  And  it  was. 

"Oh,  no!"  replied  Sally,  positively.     "It's  not 


250    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

Lilian."  And  there  was  that  in  her  tone  which  could 
not  be  expressed  in  ten  volumes.  "  You  know  per- 
fectly well  who  the  woman  is,"  Helen  seemed  to  hear 
her  say. 

Then  Helen  said:  "I  think  I  can  explain  it 
They  were  both  at  our  house  the  day  we  removed." 

"  Oh,  were  they?  "  murmured  Sarah,  in  well-acted 
surprise. 

"  And  Mr.  Dean  fell  off  some  steps  that  Emanuel 
was  supposed  to  be  holding.  I  thought  he  was  fu- 
rious —  but  not  to  that  point.  That's  probably  the 
secret  of  the  whole  thing.  As  for  Mr.  Dean  having 
pushed  Emanuel  into  the  lake,  I  don't  believe  a  word 
of  it." 

"  Then  how  was  it  that  Emanuel  had  a  cold  and 
had  to  stay  in  bed?" 

"  My  dear,  to  have  a  cold  it  isn't  necessary  to  have 
been  thrown  into  Wilbraham  Water !  " 

"That's  true,"  Sarah  admitted. 

"  However,"  Helen  calmly  proceeded,  "  I'll  find 
out  all  about  it  and  let  you  know." 

"  How  shall  you  find  out?  " 

"  I  shall  make  Emanuel  tell  me.  He  will  tell  me 
anything.  And  he's  a  dear  boy." 

"Do  you  see  him  often  up  here?"  Sarah  in- 
quired. 


GIRLISH  CONFIDENCES  251 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  This  was  not  true.  "  We  get  on 
together  excellently.  And  I'm  pretty  sure  that 
Emanuel  is  not  —  well  —  interested  in  any  other 
woman.  That's  why  I  should  say  that  they  have 
not  been  quarrelling  about  a  woman.  Unless,  of 
course,  the  woman  is  myself."  She  laughed,  and 
added:  "  But  I'm  not  jealous.  I  can  trust  Eman- 
uel." 

And  with  marvellous  intrepidity  she  looked  Sarah 
Swetnam  in  the  face. 

"  Then,"  Sarah  stammered,  "  you  and  Emanuel 
—  you  don't  mean  — " 

"  My  dear  Sally,  don't  you  think  Emanuel  is  a 
perfectly  delightful  boy?  " 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Sarah. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Helen. 

"  But  are  you  — " 

"  Between  ourselves,"  Helen  murmured.  "  Mind 
you,  between  ourselves  —  I  could  imagine  stranger 
things  happening." 

"  Well,"  said  Sarah,  "  this  is  news." 

"Mind,  not  a  syllable!" 

"  Oh,  of  course  not." 

"  By  the  way,"  Helen  asked,  "  when  are  Andrew 
and  Lilian  going  to  get  married?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     No  one  knows.     One  confidence 


252    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

for  another,  my  dear;  they  don't  always  hit  it 
off." 

"  What  a  pity!  "  Helen  remarked.  "  Because  if 
ever  two  people  were  suited  to  each  other  in  this 
world,  they  are.  But  I  hope  they'll  shake  down." 

They  arrived  at  the  rector's. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    CONCERT 

ON  another  afternoon  a  middle-aged  man  and  a 
young-hearted  woman  emerged  together  from  Burs- 
ley  Railway  Station.  They  had  a  little  luggage,  and 
a  cab  from  the  Tiger  met  them  by  appointment. 
Impossible  to  deny  that  the  young-hearted  one  was 
wearing  a  flowered  silk  under  a  travelling  mantle. 
The  man,  before  getting  into  the  cab,  inquired  as  to 
the  cost  of  the  cab.  The  gold  angel  of  the  Town 
Hall  rose  majestically  in  front  of  him,  and  immedi- 
ately behind  him  the  Park,  with  the  bowling-green  at 
the  top,  climbed  the  Moorthorne  slope.  The  bowl- 
ing season  was  of  course  over,  but  even  during  the  sea- 
son he  had  scarcely  played.  He  was  a  changed  per- 
son. And  the  greatest  change  of  all  had  occurred 
that  very  morning.  Throughout  a  long  and  active 
career  he  had  worn  paper  collars.  Paper  collars  had 
sufficed  him,  and  they  had  not  shocked  his  friends. 
But  now  he  wore  a  linen  collar,  and  eleven  other 
linen  collars  were  in  his  carpet-bag.  Yet  it  has  been 
said,  by  some  individual  who  obviously  lacked  ex- 
253 


254    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

perience  of  human  nature,  that  a  man  never  changes 
the  style  of  his  collar  after  forty. 

The  cab  drove  up  to  Hillport,  and  deposited  flow- 
ered silk  and  one  bag  at  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter.  It  then  ascended  higher,  passing  into  the 
grounds  of  Wilbraham  Hall,  and  ultimately  stopping 
at  the  grandiose  portals  thereof,  which  were  wide 
open. 

The  occupant  of  the  cab  was  surprised  to  see  two 
other  cabs  just  departing.  The  next  moment  he  was 
more  than  surprised  —  he  was  startled.  A  gentle- 
man in  evening  dress  stood  at  the  welcoming  doors, 
and  on  perceiving  him  this  gentleman  ran  down  the 
steps,  and,  with  a  sort  of  hurried  grace,  took  his 
carpet-bag  from  him,  addressing  him  in  broken  Eng- 
lish, and  indicating  by  incomprehensible  words  and 
comprehensible  signs  that  he  regarded  him,  the  new 
arrival,  as  the  light  of  his  eyes  and  the  protector 
of  the  poor  and  of  the  oppressed.  And  no  sooner 
had  he  got  the  new  arrival  safe  into  the  hall  than  he 
stripped  him  of  hat,  coat,  and  muffler,  and  might 
have  proceeded  to  extremes  had  not  his  attention 
been  distracted  by  another  vehicle. 

This  vehicle  contained  the  aged  rector  of  Bursley. 

"Hal  Mr.  Ollerenshaw !  "  cried  the  divine. 
"Your  niece  told  me  only  yesterday  that  you  were 


THE  CONCERT  255 

still  in  Derby  buying  property,  and  would  not  be 
back." 

"  I've  bought  it,  parson,"  said  James. 

"  Ha !  ha !  "  said  the  divine,  rubbing  his  hands. 
He  stooped  habitually,  which  gave  him  the  air  of 
always  trying  to  glimpse  at  his  toes  over  the  prom- 
ontory of  his  waist.  And  as  James  made  no  reply 
to  the  remark,  he  repeated:  "Ha!  ha!  So  you 
decided  to  come  to  my  concert,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  only  heard  of  it  yesterday,"  said  James. 

"  Well,"  said  the  divine,  "  I'm  afraid  they'll  be 
waiting  for  me.  Ha!  Ha!  This  way,  isn't  it? 
Fine  place  you've  got  here.  Very  fine !  Noble !  " 

And  he  disappeared  through  the  double  doors 
that  led  to  the  drawing-room,  which  doors  were 
parted  for  him  by  a  manikin  whose  clothes  seemed 
to  be  held  together  by  new  sixpences.  During  the 
brief  instant  of  opening,  a  vivacious  murmur  of  con- 
versation escaped  like  gas  from  the  drawing-room 
into  the  hall. 

James  glanced  about  for  his  bag  —  it  was  gone. 
The  gentleman  in  evening  dress  was  out  on  the 
steps.  Disheartened  by  the  mysterious  annihilation 
of  his  old  friend  the  bag,  James,  weary  with  too 
much  and  too  various  emotion,  went  slowly  up.  the 
grand  staircase.  In  his  bedroom  the  first  thing  he 


256    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

saw  was  his  bag,  which  had  been  opened  and  its 
contents  suitably  bestowed.  Thus  his  hair-brushes 
were  on  the  dressing-table.  This  miracle  completed 
his  undoing.  He  sat  down  on  an  easy-chair,  drew 
the  eider-down  off  the  bed,  and  put  it  on  his  knees, 
for  the  temperature  was  low.  He  did  not  intend 
to  go  to  sleep.  But  he  did  go  to  sleep.  It  was 
simply  a  case  of  nature  recovering  from  emotions. 

He  slept  about  an  hour,  and  then,  having  brushed 
his  wispish  hair,  he  descended  the  stairs,  determined 
to  do  or  die.  Perhaps  he  would  not  have  plumped 
himself  straight  into  the  drawing-room  had  not  the 
manikin  clad  in  sixpences  assumed  that  the  draw- 
ing-room was  his  Mecca  and  thrown  open  the  doors. 

A  loud  "  Hush !  "  greeted  him.  The  splendid 
chamber  was  full  of  women's  hats  and  men's  heads ; 
but  hats  predominated.  And  the  majority  of  the 
audience  were  seated  on  gilt  chairs  which  James  had 
never  before  seen.  Probably  there  were  four  or  five 
score  gilt  chairs.  At  the  other  end  of  the  room  the 
aged  rector  sat  in  an  easy-chair.  Helen  herself  was 
perched  at  the  piano,  and  in  front  of  the  piano  stood 
Emanuel  Prockter.  Except  that  the  room  was  much 
larger,  and  that,  instead  of  a  faultless  evening  dress, 
Emanuel  wore  a  faultless  frock-coat  (with  the  rest 
of  a  suit),  the  scene  reminded  James  of  a  similar 


THE  CONCERT  257 

one  on  the  great  concertina  night  at  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter's. 

Many  things  had  happened  since  then.  Still,  his- 
tory repeats  itself. 

"  O  Love  1  "  exclaimed  Emanuel  Prockter,  adagio 
and  sostenuto,  thus  diverting  from  James  a  hundred 
glances  which  James  certainly  was  delighted  to  lose. 

And  Helen  made  the  piano  say  "  O  Love !  "  in  its 
fashion. 

And  presently  Emanuel  was  launched  upon  the  sea 
of  his  yearnings,  and  voyaging  behind  the  hurricane 
of  passion.  And,  as  usual,  he  hid  nothing  from  his 
hearers.  Then  he  hove  to,  and,  as  it  were,  climbed 
to  the  main-topgallant-sail  in  order  to  announce : 

"OLove!" 

It  was  not  surprising  that  his  voice  cracked. 
Emanuel  ought  to  have  been  the  last  person  to  be 
surprised  at  such  a  phenomenon.  But  he  was  sur- 
prised. To  him  the  phenomenon  of  that  cracking 
was  sempiternally  novel  and  astounding.  It  pained 
and  shocked  him.  He  wondered  whose  the  fault 
could  be?  And  then,  according  to  his  habit,  he 
thought  of  the  pianist.  Of  course,  it  was  the  fault 
of  the  pianist.  And,  while  continuing  to  sing,  he 
slowly  turned  and  gazed  with  sternness  at  the  pian- 
ist. The  audience  must  not  be  allowed  to  be  under 


25 8    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

any  misapprehension  as  to  the  identity  of  the  culprit. 
Unfortunately,  Emanuel,  wrapped  up,  like  the  artist 
he  was,  in  his  performance,  had  himself  forgotten 
the  identity  of  the  culprit.  Helen  had  ceased  to  be 
Helen;  she  was  merely  his  pianist.  The  thing  that 
he  least  expected  to  encounter  when  gazing  sternly 
at  the  pianist  was  the  pianist's  gaze.  He  was  ac- 
customed to  flash  his  anger  on  the  pianist's  back. 
But  Helen,  who  had  seen  other  pianists  at  work  for 
Emanuel,  turned  as  he  turned,  and  their  eyes  met. 
The  collision  disorganised  Emanuel.  He  continued 
to  glare  with  sternness,  and  he  ceased  to  sing.  A 
contretemps  had  happened.  For  the  fifth  of  a  sec- 
ond  everybody  felt  exceedingly  awkward.  Then 
Helen  said,  with  a  faint,  cold  smile,  in  a  voice  very 
low  and  very  clear: 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Mr.  Prockter?     It 
wasn't  my  voice  that  cracked." 
The  minx! 

There  was  a  half-hearted  attempt  at  the  mainte- 
nance of  the  proprieties,  and  then  Wilbraham  Hall 
rang  with  the  laughter  of  a  joke  which  the  next  day 
had  become  the  common  precious  property  of  all 
the  Five  Towns.  When  the  aged  rector  had  re- 
stored his  flock  to  a  sense  of  decency  Mr.  Emanuel 
Prockter  had  vanished.  In  that  laughter  his  career 


THE  CONCERT  259 

as  a  singer  reached  an  abrupt  and  final  conclusion. 
The  concert  also  came  to  an  end.  And  the  col- 
lection, by  which  the  divine  always  terminated  these 
proceedings,  was  the  largest  in  the  history  of  the 
Guild. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  or  twenty  minutes  later  all 
the  guests,  members,  and  patrons  of  the  St.  Luke's 
Guild  had  left,  most  of  them  full  of  kind  inquiries 
after  Mr.  Ollerenshaw,  the  genial  host  of  that  so 
remarkably  successful  entertainment.  The  appear- 
ances and  disappearances  of  Mr.  Ollerenshaw  had 
been  a  little  disturbing.  First  it  had  been  announced 
that  he  was  detained  in  Derby,  buying  property. 
Indeed,  few  persons  were  unaware  that,  except  for 
a  flying  visit  in  the  middle,  of  two  days,  to  collect 
his  rents,  James  had  spent  a  fortnight  in  Derby  pur- 
chasing sundry  portions  of  Derby.  Certainly  Helen 
had  not  expected  him.  Nor  had  she  expected  Mrs. 
Prockter,  who  two  days  previously  had  been  called 
away  by  telegram  to  the  bedside  of  a  sick  cousin  in 
Nottingham.  Nor  had  she  expected  Lilian  Swet- 
nam,  who  was  indisposed.  The  unexpected  ladies 
had  not  arrived;  but  James  had  arrived,  as  discon- 
certing as  a  ghost,  and  then  had  faded  away  with 
equal  strangeness.  None  of  the  departing  audience 
had  seen  even  the  tassel  of  his  cap. 


260    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

Helen  discovered  him  in  his  little  room  at  the 
end  of  the  hall.  She  was  resplendent  in  black  and 
silver. 

"So  here  you  are,  uncle!"  said  she,  and  kissed 
him.  "  I'm  so  glad  you  got  back  in  time.  Can 
you  lend  me  sixpence?  " 

"What  for,  lass?" 

"  I  want  to  give  it  to  the  man  who's  taking  away 
the  chairs  I  had  to  hire." 

"  What's  become  o'  that  seven  hundred  and  sev- 
enty pound  odd,  as  ye  had?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  lightly,  "  I've  spent  that."  She 
thought  she  might  as  well  have  done  with  it,  and 
added :  "  And  I'm  in  debt  —  lots.  But  we'll  talk 
about  that  later.  Sixpence,  please." 

He  blenched.  But  he,  too,  had  been  expensive 
in  the  pursuit  of  delight.  He,  too,  had  tiresome 
trifles  on  his  mind.  So  he  produced  the  sixpence, 
and  accepted  the  dissipation  of  nearly  eight  hundred 
pounds  in  less  than  a  month  with  superb  silence. 

Helen  rang  the  bell.  "  You  see,  I've  had  all  the 
bells  put  in  order,"  she  said. 

The  gentleman  in  evening  dress  entered. 

"  Fritz,"  said  she,  "  give  this  sixpence  to  the  man 
with  the  chairs." 


THE  CONCERT  261 

"  Yes,  miss,"  Fritz  dolefully  replied.  "  A  note 
for  you,  miss." 

And  he  stretched  forth  a  charger  on  which  was  a 
white  envelope. 

"  Excuse  me,  uncle,"  said  she,  tearing  the  en- 
velope. 

"  Dinna'  mind  me,  lass,"  said  he. 

The  note  ran : 

"  I  must  see  you  by  the  Water  to-night  at  nine 
o'clock.  Don't  fail,  or  there  will  be  a  row. — 
A.D." 

She  crushed  it. 

"  No  answer,  Fritz,"  said  she.  "  Tell  cook,  din- 
ner for  two." 

"  Who's  he?  "  demanded  James,  when  Fritz  had 
bowed  himself  out. 

"  That's  our  butler,"  said  Helen,  kindly.  "  Don't 
you  like  his  eyes?  " 

"  I  wouldna'  swop  him  eyes,"  said  James.  He 
could  not  trust  himself  to  discuss  the  butler's  eyes 
at  length. 

"  Don't  be  late  for  dinner,  will  you,  uncle?  "  she 
entreated  him. 


262    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"Dinner!"    he    cried.     "I    had    my    dinner   at 
Derby.     What  about  my  tea  ?  " 
"  I  mean  tea,"  she  said. 

He  went  upstairs  again  to  his  room,  but  did  not 
stay  there  a  moment.  In  the  corridor  he  met  Helen, 
swishing  along. 

"  Look  here,  lass,"  he  stopped  her.  "  A  straight 
question  deserves  a  straight  answer.  I'm  not  given 
to  curiosity  as  a  rule,  but  what  is  Emanuel  Prockter 
doing  on  my  bed?  " 

"Emanuel  Prockter  on  your  bed!"  Helen  re- 
peated, blankly.  He  saw  that  she  was  suffering  from 
genuine  surprise. 

"On  my  bed!"  he  insisted. 

The  butler  appeared,  having  heard  the  inquiry 
from  below.  He  explained  that  Mr.  Prockter,  after 
the  song,  had  come  to  him  and  asked  where  he  could 
lie  down,  as  he  was  conscious  of  a  tendency  to  faint 
The  butler  had  indicated  Mr.  Ollerenshaw's  room 
as  the  only  masculine  room  available. 

"  Go  and  ask  him  how  he  feels,"  Helen  com- 
manded. 

Fritz  obeyed,  and  returned  with  the  message  that 
Mr.  Prockter  had  "  one  of  his  attacks,"  and  desired 
his  mother. 

"But   he   can't   have   his  mother,"   said   Helen, 


THE  CONCERT  263 

"  She's  at  Nottingham.  He  told  me  so  himself. 
He  must  be  delirious."  And  she  laughed. 

"  No,  her  isn't,"  James  put  in.  "  Her's  at  wum  " 
'(home). 

11  How  do  you  know,  uncle?  " 

"  I  know,"  said  James.  "  Her'd  better  be  sent 
for." 

And  she  was  sent  for. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

UNKNOTTING  AND   KNOTTING 

WHEN  Mrs.  Prockter  arrived  it  was  obvious  to 
Helen,  in  spite  of  her  wonderful  calm  upon  discover- 
ing James  Ollerenshaw's  butler  and  page,  that  the 
lady  was  extremely  ill-at-ease.  And  Helen,  though 
preoccupied  herself  by  matters  of  the  highest  per- 
sonal  importance,  did  what  she  could  to  remedy  a 
state  of  affairs  so  unusual.  Probably  nobody,  within 
the  memory  of  that  generation,  had  ever  seen  Mrs. 
Prockter  ill-at-ease.  Helen  inquired  as  to  the  health 
of  the  sick  relative  at  Nottingham,  and  received  a 
reply  in  which  vagueness  was  mingled  with  hesitancy 
and  a  blush.  It  then  became  further  obvious  to  the 
perspicuous  Helen  that  Mrs.  Prockter  must  have 
heard  of  her  stepson's  singular  adventure,  and  either 
resented  Helen's  share  in  it,  or  was  ashamed  of 
Emanuel's  share  in  it. 

"  You  know  that  Emanuel  is  here?  "  said  Helen, 
with  her  most  diplomatic  and  captivating  smile. 

But  Mrs.  Prockter  did  not  know.     "  I  thought 
264 


UNKNOTTING  AND  KNOTTING     265 

Mr.  Ollerenshaw  wanted  me,"  Mrs.  Prockter  ex- 
plained,  "  so  I  came  as  quickly  as  I  could." 

"  It  was  I  who  wanted  to  speak  to  you,"  said 
Helen.  "The  truth  is  that  Emanuel  is  lying  on 
uncle's  bed,  unwell  or  something,  and  he  expressed 
a  wish  to  see  you.  He  was  singing  at  the  con- 
cert—" 

"  So  sorry  I  wasn't  able  to  be  here,"  Mrs.  Prock- 
ter inserted,  with  effusive  anxiety. 

"  We  missed  you  awfully,"  Helen  properly  re- 
sponded. "  The  rector  was  inconsolable.  So  was 
everybody,"  she  added,  feeling  that  as  a  compliment 
the  rector's  grief  might  be  deemed  insufficient. 
"  And  he  had  a  breakdown." 

"Who?     Emanuel?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  accompanying  him,  and  I  am  afraid 
it  was  my  fault.  Anyhow,  he  didn't  finish  his  song. 
And  then  we  missed  him.  He  had  asked  the  butler 
to  let  him  lie  down  somewhere,  and  uncle  found  him 
in  his  bedroom.  I  hope  it's  nothing  serious." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Prockter,  regain- 
ing somewhat  her  natural  demeanour  in  a  laugh,  "  if 
it's  only  one  of  Emanuel's  singing  breakdowns,  we 
needn't  worry.  Can  I  go  up  and  talk  sense  to  him? 
He's  just  like  a  child,  you  know." 

"  Let  me  take  you  up,"  cried  Helen. 


266    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

And  the  two  women  ascended  the  grand  staircase. 
It  was  the  first  time  the  grand  staircase  had  been 
used  with  becoming  dignity  since  Mrs.  Prockter  had 
used  it  on  her  visit  of  inspection.  That  staircase 
and  Mrs.  Prockter  were  made  for  each  other. 

No  sooner  had  they  disappeared  than  James 
popped  out  of  his  lair,  where  he  had  been  hiding, 
and  gazed  up  the  staircase  like  a  hunter  stalking  his 
prey.  The  arrival  of  the  page  in  sixpences  put  him 
out  of  countenance  for  a  moment,  especially  when 
the  page  began  to  feed  the  hall-fire  in  a  manner  con- 
trary to  all  James's  lifelong  notions  of  feeding  fires. 
However,  he  passed  the  time  by  giving  the  page  a 
lesson. 

Helen  tapped  at  the  bedroom  door,  left  Mrs. 
Prockter  to  enter,  and  descended  the  stairs  again. 

"  Is  her  up  there  with  him?  "  James  asked,  in  a 
whisper. 

Helen  nodded. 

"  Ye'd  better  ask  her  stop  and  have  something 
to  eat  wi'  us,"  said  James. 

Helen  had  to  reconcile  James  Ollerenshaw  to  the 
new  scale  of  existence  at  Wilbrah'am  Hall.  She  had 
to  make  him  swallow  the  butler,  and  the  page,  and 
the  other  servants,  and  the  grand  piano  —  in  them- 
selves a  heavy  repast  —  without  counting  the  evening 


UNKNOTTING  AND  KNOTTING     267 

dinner.  Up  to  the  present  he  had  said  nothing,  be- 
cause there  had  been  no  fair  opportunity  to  say  any- 
thing. But  he  might  start  at  any  moment.  And 
Helen  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  even 
begun  the  process  of  swallowing.  She  argued,  with 
a  sure  feminine  instinct  and  a  large  experience  of 
mankind,  that  if  he  could  only  be  dodged  into  tacitly 
accepting  the  new  scale  for  even  a  single  meal,  her 
task  would  be  very  much  simplified.  And  what  an 
ally  Mrs.  Prockter  would  be ! 

"  Tell  cook  there  will  be  three  to  dinner,"  she  said 
to  the  page,  who  fled  gleefully. 

After  a  protracted  interval  Mrs.  Prockter  reap- 
peared. 

She  began  by  sighing.  "  The  foolish  boy  is  seri- 
ously damaged,"  said  she. 

"Not  hurt?"  Helen  asked. 

"  Yes.  But  only  in  his  dignity.  He  pretends  it's 
his  throat,  but  it  isn't.  It's  only  his  dignity.  I 
suppose  all  singers  are  children,  like  that.  I'm  really 
ashamed  to  have  to  ask  you  to  let  him  lie  there  a 
little,  dear  Miss  Rathbone;  but  he  is  positively  sure 
that  he  can't  get  up.  I've  been  through  these  crises 
with  him  before,  but  never  one  quite  so  bad." 

She  laughed.     They  all  laughed. 

"  I'll  let  him  lie  "there  on  one  condition,"  Helen 


268    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

sweetly  replied.  "  And  that  is  that  you  stay  to  din- 
ner. I  am  relying  on  you.  And  I  won't  take  a  re- 
fusal." 

Mrs.  Prockter  looked  sharply  at  James,  and  James 

blushed. 

"  James,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you've  told  her.  And 
you  promised  you  wouldn't  till  to-morrow." 

"  Nay  I  "  said  James.  "  I've  said  nowt  1  It's  you 
as  has  let  it  out,  now,  missis!  " 

"Told  me  what,  Mrs.  Prockter?"  Helen  asked, 
utterly  unexpectant  of  the  answer  she  was  to  get. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  the  elder  dame,  "  do  not 
call  me  Mrs.  Prockter.  I  am  Mrs.  Ollerenshaw.  I 
am  the  property  that  your  uncle  has  been  buying  at 
Derby.  And  he  is  my  sick  relative  at  Nottingham. 
We  preferred  to  do  it  like  that.  We  could  not  have 
survived  engagements  and  felicitations." 

"Oh,  you  wicked  sinners!  You  —  you  terrible 
darlings!  "  Helen  burst  out  as  soon  as  she  could  con- 
trol her  voice. 

Mrs.  Ollerenshaw  wept  discreetly. 

"  Bless  us !  Bless  us !  "  murmured  James,  not  to 
beseech  a  benediction,  but  simply  to  give  the  impres- 
sion (quite  false)  that,  in  his  opinion,  much  fuss  was 
being  made  about  nothing. 

The  new  scale  of  existence  was  definitely  accepted. 


UNKNOTTING  AND  KNOTTING     269 

And  in  private  Mrs.  Ollerenshaw  entirely  agreed 
with  Helen  as  to  the  merits  of  the  butler. 

After  dinner  James  hurried  to  his  lair  to  search! 
for  a  book.  The  book  was  not  where  he  had  left  it, 
on  his  original  entry  into  Wilbraham  Hall.  Within 
two  minutes,  the  majority  of  the  household  staff  was 
engaged  in  finding  that  book.  Ultimately  the  butler 
discovered  it;  the  butler  had  been  reading  it. 

"Ay!"  said  James,  opening  the  volume  as  he 
stood  in  front  of  the  rich,  expensive  fire  in  the  hall. 
"  Dickens  —  Charles  Dickens  —  that's  the  chap's 
name.  I  couldn't  think  of  it  when  I  was  telling  you 
about  th'  book  th'  other  day.  I  mun'  go  on  wi' 
that." 

"Couldn't  you  play  us  something?"  responded 
his  wife. 

In  the  triumph  of  concertinas  over  grand  pianos, 
poor  Emanuel,  lying  wounded  upstairs,  was  forgot- 
ten. At  five  minutes  to  nine  Helen  stole,  unper- 
ceived,  away  from  the  domestic  tableau.  She  had 
by  no  means  recovered  from  her  amazement ;  but  she 
had  screened  it  off  by  main  force  in  her  mind,  and 
she  was  now  occupied  with  something  far  more  im- 
portant than  the  blameless  amours  of  the  richest  old 
man  in  Hillport. 

By  Wilbraham  Water  a  young  man  was  walking 


270    HELEN  .WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

to  and  fro  in  the  deep  autumn  night.  He  wore  a 
cap  and  a  muffler,  but  no  overcoat,  and  his  hands 
were  pushed  far  down  into  the  pockets  of  his  trousers. 
He  regarded  the  ground  fixedly,  and  stamped  his 
feet  at  every  step.  Then  a  pale  grey  figure,  with 
head  enveloped  in  a  shawl,  and  skirts  carefully  with- 
drawn from  the  ground,  approached  him. 

He  did  not  salute  the  figure,  he  did  not  even  take 
his  hands  out  of  his  pockets.  He  put  his  face  close 
to  hers,  and  each  could  see  that  the  other's  features 
were  white  and  anxious. 

"  So  you've  come,"  said  he,  glumly. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  Helen  coldly  asked. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  That's  what  I  want. 
If  you  care  for  Emanuel  Prockter,  why  did  you  play 
that  trick  on  him  this  afternoon?  " 

"What  trick?" 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean.  So  I'll 
thank  you  not  to  beat  about  the  bush.  The  plain 
fact  is  that  you  don't  care  a  pin  for  Prockter." 

"  I  never  said  I  did." 

"  You've  made  every  one  believe  you  did,  any- 
how. You've  even  made  me  think  so,  though  all 
the  time  I  knew  it  was  impossible.  An  ass  like 
that!" 

"  What  do  vou  want?  "  Helen  repeated. 


UNKNOTTING  AND  KNOTTING    271; 

They  were  both  using  a  tone  intended  to  indicate 
that  they  were  enemies  from  everlasting  to  everlast- 
ing, and  that  mere  words  could  not  express  the  in- 
tensity of  their  mutual  hatred  and  scorn.  The  cas- 
ual distant  observer  might  have  conceived  the  en- 
counter to  be  a  love  idyll. 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"  I  broke  off  my  engagement  last  night,"  Andrew; 
Dean  muttered,  ferociously. 

"  Really !  "  Helen  commented. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  care." 

"  I  don't  see  what  it  has  to  do  with  me.  But  if 
you  talked  to  Lilian  Swetnam  in  the  same  nice  agree- 
able manner  that  you  talk  to  me,  I  can't  say  I'm 
surprised  to  hear  that  she  broke  with  you." 

"  Who  told  you  she  broke?  "  Andrew  demanded. 

"  I  guessed,"  said  Helen.  "  You'd  never  have 
had  the  courage  to  break  it  off  yourself." 

Andrew  made  a  vicious  movement. 

"  If  you  mean  to  serve  me  as  you  served  Eman- 
uel,"  she  remarked,  with  bitter  calm,  "  please  do  it 
as  gently  as  you  can.  And  don't  throw  me  far.  I 
can  only  swim  a  little." 

Andrew  walked  away. 

"  Good-night,"  she  called. 

"  Look  here !  "  he  snarled,  coming  back  to  her. 


2.72    HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  I  know  I  oughtn't 
to  have  asked  Lilian  to  marry  me.  Everybody 
knows  that.  It's  universally  agreed.  But  are  you 
going  to  make  that  an  excuse  for  spoiling  the  whole 
show?  What's  up  with  you  is  pride." 

"  And  what  is  up  with  you?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Pride,"  said  he.  "  How  could  I  know  you  were 
in  love  with  me  all  the  time?  How  could — " 

"You  couldn't,"  said  Helen.  "I  wasn't.  No 
more  than  you  were  with  me." 

"  If  you  weren't  in  love  with  me,  why  did  you  try 
to  make  me  jealous?  " 

"Me  try  to  make  you  jealous!"  she  exclaimed, 
'disdainfully.  "  You  flatter  yourself,  Mr.  Dean !  " 

"  I  can  stand  a  good  deal,  but  I  can't  stand  lies, 
and  I  won't!  "  he  exploded.  "  I  say  you  did  try  to 
make  me  jealous." 

He  then  noticed  that  she  was  crying. 

The  duologue  might  have  extended  itself  indefi- 
nitely if  her  tears  had  not  excited  him  to  uncon- 
trollable fury,  to  that  instinctive  cruelty  that  every 
male  is  capable  of  under  certain  conditions.  With- 
out asking  her  permission,  without  uttering  a  word 
of  warning,  he  rushed  at  her  and  seized  her  in  his 
arms.  He  crushed  her  with  the  whole  of  his  very 
considerable  strength.  And  he  added  insult  to  in- 


UNKNOTTING  AND  KNOTTING    273 

jury  by  kissing  her  about  forty-seven  times.  Women 
are  such  strange,  incalculable  creatures.  Helen  did 
not  protest.  She  did  not  invoke  the  protection  of 
Heaven.  She  existed,  passively  and  silently,  the  un- 
remonstrating  victim  of  his  disgraceful  violence. 

Then  he  held  her  at  arm's  length.  "  Will  you 
marry  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  Did  you  try  to  make  me  jealous?  " 

"  Yes." 

Later,  as  they  walked  by  the  lake,  he  ejaculated: 
"  I'm  an  awful  brute!  " 

"  I  like  you  as  you  are,"  she  replied. 

But  the  answer  was  lacking  in  precision,  for  at 
that  moment  he  was  being  as  tender  as  only  an  awful 
brute  can  be. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  we  mustn't  say  anything 
about  it  yet." 

"  No,"  he  agreed.  "  To  let  it  out  at  once  might 
make  unpleasantness  between  you  and  the  Swet- 
nams." 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  "  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that. 
But  there's  another  love-affair  in  the  house,  and  no 
house  will  hold  two  at  once.  It  would  be  nausea- 
ting." 

That  is  how  they  talk  in  the  Five  Towns.     As  if 


HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

one  could  have  too  much  love,  even  in  a  cottage  — 
to  say  nothing  of  a  Wilbraham  Hall!  Mrs. 
Ollerenshaw  placidly  decided  that  she  and  James 
would  live  at  the  Hall,  though  James  would  have 
preferred  something  a  size  smaller.  As  I  have  al- 
ready noticed,  the  staircase  suited  her;  James  suited 
her,  too.  No  one  could  guess  why,  except  possibly 
James.  They  got  on  together,  as  the  Five  Towns 
said,  "  like  a  house  afire." 

Helen  and  Andrew  Dean  were  satisfied  with  a 
semi-detached  villa  in  Park-road,  with  a  fine  view  of 
the  gold  angel.  Women  vary,  capricious  beings! 
Helen  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  one  servant.  But 
she  dresses  rather  better  than  ever. 


THE   END 


23 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGION- 


A     000018284     0 

a 


